


Maybe We'll Live and Learn, Maybe We'll Crash and Burn

by OriginalCeenote



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Awkward Social Situations, Bakery AU, Beefy Bucky, Beefy Steve, Coping with Family Member's Illness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual mild smut, Health Nut Steve, Injured Bucky, Just Ask Natasha, M/M, Married Only Apartment Rental, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, OCD Worried Steve, Sharon Carter is a Good Bro and Hot Fiancee, Will These Two Idiots Just KISS Already, eventual pining, fake marriage au, fake relationship trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:00:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 120,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: Bucky has found the perfect apartment that is a) close to his bakery, b) within his budget if he gets a roommate, and c) in a less crime-ridden neighborhood than he lives in now. Now he only has two problems. One, his search for a roommate has been unsuccessful thus far. Two, the landlady insists that she will only rent it to amarried couple.He’s about ready to give up hope, until his most annoying regular from the bakery answers his ad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [debwalsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/gifts).



> This story is the auction that my bidder, debwalsh, won from me in the Fandom Trumps Hate fundraiser on Tumblr. I would love to thank her for being an enthusiastic bidder, as well as for promoting my auction offering on her blog. It’s rare and wonderful to get that kind of support and encouragement from someone whose writing and artwork I enjoy.

“Why can’t they look at the pastry without putting their grubby hands all over the glass?” Nat complained as she wiped down the glass case with disinfectant for about the tenth time that morning since they opened.

“Last time, I wiped off _face prints,_ ” Sharon boasted. She could easily blame the displays of colorful cookies and cupcakes decorated with sprinkles, gum drops and assorted candies, lined up in neat rows on each huge tray. Children found them so tempting and automatically pressed their little palms all over the glass, even pressing their faces against it with unrestrained want. Bucky didn’t mind the kids. It was nice to see them bounce with excitement, eyes lighting up when their parents would let them carefully select their treats.

“One time, I had just wiped this down,” Nat countered, not wanting to be outdone, “and one of the little crumb snatchers _licked_ the glass.”

Nonplussed, Sharon said, “Maybe the kid had pica. I had a niece with it, who used to want to taste all kinds of things that weren’t food. My sister had to call Poison Control when she tasted the cleanser.”

“How did she get into the cleanser?” Nat asked.

“Those childproof locks that my sister put on her cabinets were a joke. And eighteen-month-olds are smarter than you think.”

Bucky agreed with that. His own niece, Becca’s daughter Wren, fetched the Phillips screwdriver from the kitchen drawer herself and unscrewed the battery compartment on the back of one of her V-tech toys to replace the dead batteries herself. Righty-tighty, lefty-loosey. And the kid was only _three_. Becca and Wren were frequent visitors to the shop, because of _course_ his sister enjoyed the family discount (i.e., “free”) that he gave her when she stopped by to pick up a cupcake for Wren or a bag of rolls.

The bakery was his brain child after he quit his last restaurant because they cut his hours. A new management team had taken over the restaurant’s contract and reduced most of the full-time staff with the most seniority to part-time, which meant that they could also cut Bucky’s health insurance benefits. Bucky needed his physical therapy appointments for his arm and shoulder and his pain med prescriptions, and he told his old boss, Alexander Pierce, under no certain terms that he could fuck off.

His mother helped him for a few months and let him move back home, but he went stir crazy. Bucky also read a Newsweek article about “adultolescents” (college graduates that moved back home) that painted his own situation in an unflattering light. After spending the past handful of years with roommates, not having a curfew, and coming and going as he pleased, it was weird to have his mom giving him the side-eye about coming home late (or not at all), sleeping in late, skipping church, and her frequent requests to run errands for her or replace the milk if he drank the last of it. While he lived at home, he watched a lot of Food Network shows, mainlining _Cupcake Wars_ religiously, and suddenly, the baking bug bit him. 

Even though Bucky still had student loans to pay off, Winifred co-signed on a loan for him to buy the bakery, and “Hey There, Babycakes” made its way off the ground. Natasha became his partner, since she majored in Accounting and had a gift for crunching his numbers. Sharon and Nat were a package deal; they had been engaged for over a year.

Bucky’s life became so much sweeter once he became his own boss. Winifred paid his health insurance premiums, and he still went to PT once a week. After a revision to his old shoulder pinning surgery, his doctor weaned him off most of the Norco; he was down from six pills a day to three. Small steps.

"So, Bucky, have you found a roommate yet?" Sharon removed the dough hook from the KitchenAid mixer and she flipped the dough onto the flour-dusted counter. Her forearms flexed as she kneaded the dough with relative ease; Sharon was slender but strong from working in the bakery and lifting fifty-pound bags of flour.

“Ain’t happening,” he complained bitterly. Bucky had been on Zillow and Craigslist and every apartment Web site he could find, with no luck. Everything was out of his price range until he could get another roommate. Sam was leaving the country in three weeks to meet Monica in Seoul for their shared sabbatical. Sam Wilson was the best roommate Bucky could have asked for, but Bucky couldn’t stand in the way of true love. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t _whine_ about it a little ~~lot~~.

Bucky’s mornings were characterized lately by too much coffee and the unshakable hint of a headache that seemed to live just over the bridge of his nose, from tension and sleeplessness. Bucky needed to find a place and someone he didn’t want to kill to share it with, _stat_.

Bucky drank in the noise and various smells in the bakery, watching his clientele adding sugar and cream to their drinks and jamming on the plastic lids, taking bites of their bagels wrapped in white paper before shouldering their way out the door, briefcases and carrier bags in hand. He watched mothers with preschoolers and babies in strollers wrestling with them, dashing away crumbs with napkins and swabbing at hands and faces with Purell. One of his regulars, Charles, sat at the table in the left front window, enjoying the sunshine and the crossword puzzle in _The Daily Bugle._ He nodded to Bucky and saluted him with his cup.

"My compliments. No one matches your muffins, James." He motioned to the remains of the organic blueberry one on his small, aqua green ceramic plate.

"Is that the French roast that you're having with it?" Bucky asked. Nat swatted him reproachfully.

"Of course not," she told him. "Charles only drinks Earl Grey tea. You know that by now."

"I was just asking because it's new. I just started ordering those beans." His tone was indignant, but Nat gave him an unimpressed look.

"Not everyone drinks coffee," Nat said. Her own commuter cup of white tea with ginger was stowed back in the kitchen. 

"Heathens," Bucky countered. "Don't take coffee's name in vain." Charles chuckled over the edge of his newspaper and continued to pick at the crumbs on his plate. Charles inspired Bucky to have the wheelchair-accessible door installed in the front of the shop, and he looked forward to the retired professor’s visits. He also ran into him at his physical therapist’s practice from time to time. Charles Xavier had a resonant, deep voice and pleasant laugh, treating Bucky to it often.

The early morning crowd slowly tapered off, leaving Sharon and Bucky to work on the breads for the lunch crowd while Nat crunched numbers in the back office. The heat of the kitchen was making Bucky sweat in his soft flannel shirt, and he rolled up his sleeves now that he was back away from the front counter. A long lock of dark hair escaped his ponytail and hung down over his brow while he worked, cutting off neat sections of dough with his pastry blade. Sharon pressed each section into prepared loaf pans and lined them up. Her apron was already stained with flour and remnants of cinnamon powder and she wiped her nose with the back of her wrist, blowing hair out of her own eyes.

“Turn on the fan,” Bucky complained.

“M’opening up a window, too,” she told him. They usually did, anyway, like clockwork; by the time they got to the midday loaves, the kitchen was almost intolerable, but it served the dual purpose of pushing the fragrance of fresh bread through the vents to the outside, where it lured in customers.

Scott, Bucky’s distributor, came in a few minutes later and took a quick inventory, scrawling on his clipboard. “Half the city can blame you for their clogged arteries, pal. I don’t know anyone else who goes through as much butter.”

“ _Organic_ butter,” Nat corrected him.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s still fat. You’re fat peddlers,” Scott claimed.

“We’ve got low-fat options,” Sharon told him.

“And vegan options. And gluten-free options,” Nat chimed in.

“Not as good as the original recipe,” Bucky clarified. “But it also won’t kill you.”

“Ah,” Scott agreed. “I still ain’t eatin’ it.”

“You’re a killjoy,” said Nat.

“Speaking of which… lemme place my order. Cassie’s birthday.”

“Ooh!” Sharon’s eyes lit up. “That’s this weekend?”

“Yup. I’m bringing cake.” He announced it as though he’d just told them he was running for office. “I’m just glad she even told me they were having it.” “She” meaning Scott’s ex, Maggie. Scott managed to find the job driving the delivery trucks for the food warehouse after months of dead-end gigs. Getting fired from Baskin Robbins had been the last straw. Scott still didn’t regret punching the guy who tried to order a hot pretzel. “She’s into that ‘Trolls’ movie.”

“Who isn’t?” Nat grinned. “We can totally pull off a Trolls cake. What flavor?”

“Troll-flavored? I don’t know. Surprise me.” He shrugged and threw up his hands.

“Vanilla with a strawberry filling,” Sharon decided for him. “No allergies?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’

“Strawberry it is.” Sharon scrawled the details on her little pink order slip. “How old is she now?”

“Seven,” he groaned. “I can’t keep her in shoes.”

“Wait til she’s thirteen. She won’t even be outgrowing them as fast, but she’ll want three times as many pairs.” Sharon gave his shoulder an affectionate punch.

“Ow,” he hissed under his breath. He nodded to Bucky. “She’s an animal.”

“Don’t you talk that way about my sweet boo-biscuit,” Nat argued, giving both men dirty looks. Scott mouthed _Boo-biscuit?_ and ducked his way out of Nat’s wrath. 

“Hey, he’s fragile,” Bucky pronounced. “Be nice.”

“Am not,” Scott said. “You’d better show a little respect, Barnes. Someone’s butter might show up missing on some day when you’re least expecting it.”

“Butter bandits?” Sharon suggested.

“Might hold the brown sugar hostage, too,” Scott threatened.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Nat folded her arms and made her voice a little more menacing. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“I wouldn’t. The butter bandits might.”

“We need more Earl Grey, too,” Bucky told him. Scott went back to his order sheet as he scanned through Bucky’s pantry.

“Got it. Tea. Hey, how is that French roast working out for you?”

“Everybody likes the blond roast better,” Bucky mentioned.

“So we’ll stick with the blond,” Scott muttered to his clipboard as he continued to scribble and check off boxes. “Okay. That gives me something to work with.”

“Good. Now you can pretend to actually work.” 

Scott shook his finger at Nat in reply. “Funny. This one’s a crack-up, Bucky. I’ll put that on your letter of recommendation when he fires you, okay, Red?”

“You might as well ask him to cut off his right arm,” Nat said, before she caught herself. Sharon lightly stepped on her toe and gave her a look that demanded, _Watch it._

Bucky flinched. But he recovered quickly, saving the moment.

“Cassie’s cake will be ready by Friday at noon.”

Scott beamed. “Great. I owe you, man.” He clapped Bucky on his good shoulder and made his way out through the back door. They went back to their loaves. Bucky had just finished mixing caraway seeds into another batch of rye dough when he heard the bell over the front door chime and familiar-sounding footsteps tracking inside.

 _Damn it._ It was _him_ again.

Sharon gave Bucky her amused look, left eyebrow cocked as she began sliding loaves into the oven. “You should go out there and help him.”

“It’s your turn,” Bucky countered. Because you couldn’t pay him enough money to walk into the front serving area right now.

“That sounds like bad customer service,” Nat chimed in. “Bad customer service is a no-no. It costs us money.”

“Wait. I’m… I’m your boss, right? The boss of both of you?” He motioned between them, and Nat shrugged, knowing he hated it.

“Go! Go!” She shooed him out of the kitchen. “I have to go through the invoices from that event we catered last month. I think they stiffed us for the red velvet cupcakes.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared, and he raked his fingers through his hair. “ _Fine._ ” He spun around and stalked out of the kitchen’s oppressive heat, and he slowed his pace again the closer he came to the counter.

There he was, douchey carrier bag slung over his shoulder and wearing skinny jeans and a too-tight, fitted flannel shirt that snapped up the front. A gray knit beanie covered most of his wheat blond hair and his blue eyes were scanning the menu as though he’d never seen it before, even though he’d been plaguing Bucky for over a year. He reached up and lightly scratched an itch behind his ear, making the piercings there bob. 

He caught sight of Bucky out of the corner of his eye right after he plucked up a tiny sample of the banana bread on the counter, sniffing it dubiously first before popping it into his mouth. Bucky resented the implication in his demeanor, that he lacked confidence in Bucky’s product. Well, he could pick his boojy, hipster ass up and skedaddle if he had an issue with Bucky’s banana bread, as far as he was concerned…

He schooled his face into a safe smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s the special of the day,” he urged, hoping to get him out, but Steve’s eyes drifted back up to the menu hanging on the back wall, and Bucky stifled a groan of annoyance.

“It’s not bad?” Steve told him, doing that little thing with his voice, phrasing every statement like it was a question. He’d been in the Bay Area for five years before coming back to Brooklyn, and now he sounded like Bill and Ted. “But, I’m not really into banana? No offense. I mean, it’s good, it’s just not my thing. Y’know?”

“Can’t please everybody,” Bucky offered, shrugging, wishing Steve would get on with it, already, so he could get back to his bread.

“So… D’you have any cranberry muffins today?”

“Sorry,” Bucky told him. “Just blueberry, the white chocolate raspberry, and the bran.”

“No cranberry, huh?” Those eyes flitted back to the menu, and Bucky felt the rest of the productive part of his afternoon evaporating. “So, you’re not planning to make any today?”

“We’re just so busy. I rotate my specials every week,” Bucky explained, like he had done for Steve at least once a month. Steve always came in and asked for his favorite items, whether they were scrawled on the specials board or not on any given day. If Bucky was trying to push his cinnamon twists, Steve was the jerk who wanted blueberry bars. Steve was the one who constantly grilled Nat and Sharon about whether or not their ingredients were organic. Steve kept grilling Bucky about his ingredients for his allergy-safe goods. Were the Mexican wedding cake cookies really eggless? Did he have any baklava without nuts? Did he have soy milk for the coffee?

“Ever think about making the cranberry muffins a daily item?” 

Bucky exhaled more loudly through his nose than he’d planned. “No. I hadn’t.”

“Maybe you should give it some thought.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to order.” Bucky picked up a pack of paper napkins and prepared to fill a nearby dispenser.

“Oh, I’m almost ready.”

Bucky slowly lowered the pack back down to the counter, itching to do anything else even remotely useful than wait on this guy. 

And honestly, it wasn’t like he was even a bad person.

Steve was just _Steve_.

He’d rubbed Bucky the wrong way from day one.

The first time they’d met, Steve parked in Bucky’s reserved parking space. Bucky had to drive around the block twice before he finally found a space, even though there was a sign that read “Reserved for Bakery Staff ONLY.” Bucky had fumed his way inside the shop, tossing his jacket up onto the peg just inside the counter, tugging on the back of his hair in frustration.

“Anyone know the owner of that car in my space?” he demanded. Sharon and Nat looked up from the trays of cookies they were icing and shrugged.

“I told you, Bucky, you should get rid of that thing, anyway, and just ride the train. Or the bus.”

“The bus doesn’t run that early in the morning,” Bucky argued. “And I love my car.” It was a vintage ’69 Mustang with slightly rusted blue paint and a white racing stripe down the middle. No way in hell was he giving it up, but that didn’t excuse the douchebag who took his parking spot. None of the customers looked up when he complained.

All except for the one guy in the chambray blue, long-sleeved Henley sitting over at the corner table, sipping a medium coffee that had steamed the lenses of his reading glasses. His eyes flitted away for a moment. Bucky narrowed his.

“Hey, pal,” he called out, “you know that spot’s reserved, right?”

The beefy blond – he was _huge_ \- had the decency to blush. He also had the nerve to have high, firm cheekbones that Bucky couldn’t appreciate at the moment, as well as a cute little divot that formed between his sandy, heavy brows. (Focus, Bucky.) “Sorry. I was in a hurry. I was going to re-park my car, man, I swear…”

“No point in that now,” Bucky told him, throwing up his hands in a “We’re all friends here” gesture and a brittle smile. “Like you said, you were _going_ to re-park your car.”

“I didn’t… hey, I said I’m sorry, all right?” He looked flustered. “I had an important stop to make. And I ended up coming back here to get some coffee. I really needed it. And I took an extra minute for myself.”

And his voice held a note of exhaustion in it. Bucky could relate to that, after a fashion. Bucky Barnes had to adjust a lifetime of nocturnal urges and sleeping in through the brightest hours of the day when he opened his bakery. Now he was up every day at the crack of dawn to make his bagels and assorted rolls. He couldn’t manage that without coffee and being _really_ strict with himself. “Take your minute, then. Just… next time, pal, read the sign?”

Before his errant customer could say anything else in his defense, Bucky headed back into the kitchen. Nat hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms folded.

“That was smooth, James.”

“I took the scenic route getting here today, y’know. And by ‘scenic,’ I mean I had to circle the block twice. It doesn’t look any better the second time. I know you think it would.”

“What was your hurry? Things are slowing down already.”

“Nat. I just wanna park my car. That’s not asking too much.”

“I know. Just take it easy on him.”

Bucky huffed. “Why? You sweet on him?”

“Um, engaged to a blonde hottie already?” she reminded him, holding up her left hand, where the gorgeous emerald twinkled from her ring finger. “He’s not bad. A little goofy about wondering what’s in everything that we make, but not bad.”

Bucky sighed. “He’s one of ‘those?’”

“Uh-huh.”

Bucky’s sigh was loud and long-suffering. 

“It’s just a parking space.”

“You’re right. I’m being an asshole for assuming it’s actually _mine_.”

And by the time Bucky went back out to the front counter to help Sharon with the line forming in front of it, Blondie was gone, and Bucky’s parking space was empty again.

 

But now, today, he was back. And he was digging in his pocket for his wallet, which meant that Bucky had to commit to the sale.

“I know this is a silly question, but do you have anything with apples in it?”

“Today, just an applesauce cake. It’s good. No chunks of apple in it, though.” Bucky hoped that meant he would narrow his choices down to something simple and go.

“That’s not what I wanted, but good to know.”

Bucky suppressed the growl rising up in his throat. “Apple, huh?”

“I wanted to pick up something special.”

“Once in a while, we make an apple gallette,” Nat explained helpfully. “Watch for when we have it on special.”

Steve smiled, but his eyes looked sad behind his glasses. “Thanks for the tip.”

She beamed. “Any time.”

“Guess I’ll just get the bran muffin. Two of them,” he decided. Bucky felt a little wave of relief prickle down his back. _Finally_.

“Coming up.” Bucky snapped open a white paper to-go back, ripped a tissue wrap out of the nearby box, and selected two of the muffins.

“No raisins, right?” Steve prodded.

“None,” Bucky promised.

“Thank God…”

 _Heathen,_ Bucky thought bitterly. Raisins added “oomph.” Who didn’t want a little “oomph?”

He handed Steve the muffins, and he was about to ring him up, until Steve asked “Hey, could I get a coffee, too?”

“Black? Blond roast? Medium?” Bucky inquired, earning himself Steve’s grateful smile. Bucky pretended it didn’t warm him a little.

“You must read minds.”

“Ha, ha. Yeah. Sure. Here ya go.” Bucky quickly dispensed the coffee from the urn in long, hard pumps of the handle before sliding the cup across the counter. “Anything else?”

“I think that’s about it.” He handed Bucky seven dollars in crumpled bills. “Keep the change.”

“You spoil me.”

“Now you can afford a haircut, Shaggy,” Steve teased. Bucky’s eyes grew round and his smile dropped.

“Did you just talk smack about my hair?” Sharon bit her lip in amusement; Nat showed even less restraint, snickering at Bucky’s expression.

“Enjoy the muffin, Steve,” Nat called out.

“Don’t choke on it,” Bucky added as Steve waved his way out the door. “Asshole,” he muttered.


	2. I Do My Sunday Dreaming, And All My Sunday Scheming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is running out of options. Help with his roommate and apartment situation comes from an unlikely – and unwanted – source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m awful. Originally I wanted this to be a long oneshot, but that didn’t happen because my writer’s block comes in dribs and drabs, and I had a family thing to take care of last week, and no access to my laptop while I was traveling. But I’m making good on my auction prize offering and getting this out there. Thank you in advance for your interest.

Bucky heard his cat behind the door, collar jingling and meowing like he’d abandoned her as soon as he jiggled his key in the lock. He took a brief whiff of their apartment – his and Sam’s, for the moment – and noticed that the trash needed to be taken out. Bucky almost stepped on the cat, Iago, before she began to rub against Bucky’s calf, purring in low trills and flicking his tale. “Sure, act like I never feed you,” Bucky told the large gray Himalayan as he reached down to scratch her under her chin. Bucky wandered inside and chucked his pile of junk mail and bills, as well as Sam’s copy of _Maxim_ onto the dinette table. He rooted through the fridge and found a half-finished bottle of Langer’s cranberry-blood orange cocktail and gulped it straight from the bottle. Sam would likely kill Bucky for it, as though Buck had never caught him doing the same thing with the orange juice, Mr. “Do As I Say, Not As I Do” Wilson.

He made dinner, sautéing a couple of the cheap, frozen chicken breasts and boiling a small pot of plain rice. Sam had been trying to get him to do the Paleo diet and eat brown rice, but Bucky couldn’t get past the weird, chewy texture and how gross it felt in his teeth. Bucky went to his laptop and booted it up, and he rooted through his produce bin in the fridge for anything green. He found a questionable head of broccoli and a saute pan; it would do. 

Bucky dreaded going through his emails and the probably dismal search results from the apartment rental sites. So far, his efforts were fruitless, even laughable. His Craigslist inquiries yielded few nibbles and quite a few terse, short rejections: _Sorry, pal. Already found somebody to sublet on the lease. Should’ve contacted me sooner._ Thanks a lot, _pal._ Many of the people he noticed looking for roommates were college sophomores out of the dorms for the first time; Bucky didn’t want to be the “responsible adult” left holding the bag for rent and utilities. No, thanks. Then, a few of the replies he received were just plain off-base.

_We’re looking for a third. How is your pain tolerance?_

NnnnnnnnOPE. “Ain’t gonna happen,” he muttered aloud as he deleted that message, scrubbing his face with his palm. Great. Still no success. And Sam was moving out soon. Bucky wasn’t going to try to renew the lease without him, anyway, because it wasn’t worth keeping this apartment. Sam had been the ideal roommate in a less than ideal environment; “ideal” in this case meant upstairs neighbors who didn’t perform Zumba at 4AM and a kitchen sink that didn’t clog up every other week. Bucky could also do without the paper-thin walls, telling him his neighbors on the left had a more active – and creative – love life than he did. 

Sam’s moving progress was depressing Bucky, too. Every day, he came home with flattened cardboard boxes under his arm and made trips to Goodwill to get rid of old dishes, CDs, books, movies, and random knick-knacks from his high school and college days, like his foam Cheesehead hat from Wisconsin and his full-size bed’s Star Wars bedsheets. He bequeathed his set of black, octagonal dishes that he bought from Target on a whim to Bucky, who merely sighed and shook his head.

“I’m pulling your Y chromosome, pal. Bye-bye, man cave. You’re whipped.”

“Man, just shut up and take these.”

But Monica was good for Sam, and he was a little jealous. Sam glowed from being loved. 

Sam’s room was looking emptier by the day. Bucky’s grooming supplies began to spread across the wide bathroom vanity that they shared, now that he had more space, but it didn’t satisfy him. Iago was even grouchier than usual, constantly flicking her tail back and forth where she was balled up on the same end of the couch where Sam usually sat. She knew he was leaving, too. Sam was calm and secure, stable, paid his bills and his half of the rent on time, and he just _got_ Bucky. Bucky wasn’t looking forward to moving day and losing one of his lifelines.

The man of the hour came home, predictably loaded down with more boxes. “Thanks for bringing in the mail,” he called out as he did up the deadbolt locks. 

“It’s nothing but junk. And your issue of _Maxim_.”

“Cool.” Sam set down his boxes and tossed his keys on the table. “Whatcha makin’?” He came over and hovered over Bucky’s shoulder, lifting the lid on the rice pot.

“Hey, let it do its thing!” Bucky scolded.

“White rice?” Sam tsked. “Paleo, my man. M’tellin’ you. You’ll feel _so much better_ if you change the way you eat.”

“I buy organic,” Bucky argued.

“Organic white flour. Organic white rice. Organic white sugar. Organic _poison_ ,” Sam finished.

“Longevity’s overrated. You still can’t force brown rice down my throat, Wilson.”

Sam pouted. “What else are you making?”

“Broccoli with a little garlic.”

“Ooh.” Sam beamed when he saw the broccoli sizzling in the pan, drizzled in olive oil. “Carry on, my good man.” Sam went through the mail and toyed with Bucky’s laptop briefly, logging into his own email while his own tablet charged on the kitchen counter. The apartment automatically felt more like home with Sam there; Bucky basked in the momentary comfort and he felt a hint of fondness as Iago crouched and sprang up onto Sam’s lap, flapping her tail up against his jaw.

“You’re so spoiled,” Sam murmured as he stroked her back in long sweeps of his palm, making her arch and purr.

Bucky’s cat was such a little traitor.

*

Bucky finally checked his messages and search results again as Sam washed the dishes. He sat back and rubbed his eyes, slouching in the dining room chair. “GAH!” he cried.

“That bad, huh?”

“Everyone’s a nutball. Every place costs too much even _with_ a roommate.”

“Go get one of those little Pennysaver newspapers. Sometimes they have good rental listings,” Sam prodded.

“The pictures always look ten times better than the actual property,” Bucky pointed out.

“Go to a rental agency.” Bucky sighed. “They might even have some roommate listings. Who knows?”

Bucky shrugged into a soft hoodie and slid his worn baseball cap over his fraying ponytail. He stopped at the bodega three blocks down and picked up a Pennysaver like Sam suggested, along with a bottle of Goya honey and some of the weird mango and chamoy-flavored candy that Sam liked. Out of habit, he glanced at his car as he passed it on the street, checking the tires. They’d been slashed a month ago, which he’d unfortunately discovered on his way to work that morning. It only cemented his reasons for wanting to move out of that neighborhood.

Sam relieved Bucky of the candy when he got back, and Bucky relaxed on the couch with Iago, cat sprawled across his blanket-draped lap while he read the ads. “Hm.”

“See something promising?”

“Eh. Maybe.” Bucky reached for a pen on the coffee table and scrawled a circle around the listing. “’Two bedroom unit downtown in well-maintained brownstone. Water, cable and garbage paid.”

“Nice,” Sam remarked.

“Yeah. ‘Pets allowed with minimal deposit.’” That sweetened the deal as far as Bucky was concerned, because where he went, Iago followed. The tricky part was finding a roommate who liked cats; that was Bucky’s main dealbreaker. “The rent’s a pretty penny, but it’s a nice neighborhood. Not too far from work.”

“Shoot. I might move back in with you,” Sam teased.

“Pfffft… go. Scram! Go with your fiancée and her pink towels and floral sheets.”

“Um, excuse me? _Lavender._ ” Sam’s tone was appropriately haughty.

“It’s nice. I just need to find someone interested in… oh. Fuck. Never mind.”

“What?” Sam was making himself a cup of herbal tea, drizzling in some of the new honey.

“There’s a little clause here. ‘Couples only.’”

“Isn’t that renter discrimination?”

“Seems like it,” Bucky agreed. “Actually, it says ‘married couples only.’”

“Wow.” Sam shook his head. “Scratch that one, then. Unless you plan to whistle up a husband in the meantime.”

That idea shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did to Bucky. He sat there, scratching Iago’s ears, musing. Considering.

*

Bucky didn’t know why he mentioned it to Sharon and Natasha.

“Seriously?” Nat looked _delighted_. “Married couples only? This isn’t the nineteen-fifties.”

“If it was, you and your hubby could have those Lucy-and-Ricky twin beds with two feet of space between them.” Sharon’s smile was mischievous.

“Like when they used to wear their bathrobes to bed?”

“And Lucy’s hair was perfect, even when she was climbing into bed. Anyway, back to the apartment,” Nat said, re-steering her train of thought. “So. Perfect apartment. Pets allowed. All you need is a husband.”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky was incredulous. He laughed at her expression as she scrunched up her nose at him.

“No, actually. You need a roommate, anyway.”

“To sign a lease. Not pick out china patterns.”

“Why not do both?” Sharon challenged. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing in the world.”

“Um… isn’t it illegal? You can’t falsify information on a lease. It’s a legal document.”

“Eh. Just a technicality.”

“Not when I get myself arrested.”

“Sam’s gonna be moved out in three weeks.” Nat tapped her watch at him. “Clock’s ticking, buddy boy.”

“Besides,” Sharon told him, “worst case scenario, you can just go get a marriage certificate. Just get an officiant to marry you.”

“Sharon. Seriously.” Bucky was aghast as he tweaked off rolls from a mound of dough.

“Seriously. You should put some feelers out there. Post an ad.”

Bucky shook his head. It was unthinkable. Ridiculous.

“Put an ad out in the personals. Or even the Men Looking for Men section of Craigslist,” Nat suggested.

“Nat. Craigslist is a hot mess.”

“Just a thought.”

Again, Bucky wondered what the heck he was doing even considering this. 

“Not your best thought, Nat. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is so short. I'm tired, and I wanted to post to keep this going. More to come this weekend, hopefully. It's about to get kinda silly.


	3. My Goodies, Not My Goodies…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky _still_ couldn’t believe he was even considering this. Yet, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update last time. Hectic week, still kinda exhausted. But this story will continue!

Craigslist was a hot mess.

One of Bucky’s favorite guilty pleasures was to read the Missed Connections section whenever he was having a day where he doubted himself or his ability to “adult.” It yielded some true gems:

“…I was the guy whose shoes you threw up on outside of Crazy Horse Saloon. Your eyeliner was all smeared when you looked up and said “Sorry, it was the tequila” before your friend took you to get cleaned up. Despite the puke, you have really pretty blue eyes. Text me and we’ll go out for a root beer.”

“…I have to admire any girl who lets out a fart that loud and walks away from it like a boss. My kind of woman. Call me.”

“Yo. I was the guy who accidentally sent you a dick pic last week. Thanks for not freaking out. Wanna see the real thing?”

Yet here he was, stomach tied in knots, late at night after Sam went to bed, composing his Roommate Wanted ad and praying he wasn’t making a _huge_ mistake. Bucky re-read it a few times and hoped he didn’t sound desperate. Or absolutely off his rocker.

“Single male, 25, looking for responsible, flexible roommate,” he read aloud, barely above a mutter. “Must like cats. Looking to share a two-bedroom rental downtown, utilities paid. Prime location, rent would be reasonable split between the two of us. Male preferred. No drugs, no smoking. Message me for further details.”

That wouldn’t bring too many oddballs out of the woodwork, hopefully. Bucky was _desperate_.

Two more weeks. Too little time. 

Bucky was still having zero luck finding a one-bedroom apartment within his price range, and two brief roommate interviews yielded no success. One of them was a musician who owned three guitars and practiced constantly, claiming to be a night owl. The other was vague about his job, only emphasizing that he traveled a lot, that Bucky might not be able to reach him at the same cell phone next week – that was a red flag – and that he got all of his mail at a PO Box “to throw off anyone who he didn’t want keeping track of him.” Practical? Maybe. Scary? Definitely. Brock had creeped him out. Bucky blocked his number in his phone, just to be safe.

He even briefly considered printing out a flyer with little tear-off strips on it with his email to put in the bakery, but he automatically nixed that idea. Because _no_.

Iago yawned and stretched across his belly; he practically heard every one of her vertebrae flex and crack. She extended and booped him with her paw, and Bucky dutifully scratched her under her chin. She was getting roly-poly, and Bucky was due to take her to the vet. Iago stared up at him accusingly: _Don’t even THINK of getting a no-pet apartment and leaving me with Becca again._ That hadn’t worked out well. Becca had a fussy white calico named Esmerelda who had strong opinions about a second cat trying to take her place under Becca’s bed, or in the cat box. Strong opinions, indeed. Becca handed Iago’s pet carrier back to him ruefully, making throat-cutting motions when she brought her back to him upon his return from a small business conference.

“She didn’t enjoy the hospitality at Chez Becca,” she told him. “Esmerelda kindly suggested she take her patronage elsewhere.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Catfights galore. You never heard so much hissing and yowling in your life. It was like an episode of ‘Real Housewives’ on constant loop.”

Right. So, that settled that.

He hit “Post” on his ad and mentally crossed his fingers.

“Please work. Please, please, PLEASE don’t be a psycho.” His stomach didn’t quite unclench. 

Maybe things would look better in the morning.

*

It turned out he didn’t have to wait long. Bucky came back from his early morning run, logged out of his Pandora station, and noticed his Google mail had one new message. His heart pounded as he thumbed through his screens to open it.

_Subject: Male roommate, hi…_

“Hey, there,” Bucky read to himself as he entered his apartment and almost tripped over Iago as she attacked his shoelaces, meowing for breakfast. “Saw your ad. It sounds like we could help each other. I need a roommate, STAT.” Bucky huffed. Great. This guy could be desperate, another red flag, but he read on. “I can manage rent with a roommate. I’ve had some family responsibilities to take care of, and I can’t renew my lease.” Well, Bucky knew how that felt. “I like cats, so no problem there. I’m clean. No drugs, and I’m a morning person. I won’t leave dishes in the sink or wet towels on the floor. I pay my bills, I promise. Just, consider me, okay? I work as a graphic designer at the Back to Business Journal, that little free paper that you see in the rack outside of the post office. Not too glamorous, but it puts milk in the fridge. Message me. I’m interested in hearing more details.” He left his cell number and a Yahoo address. Okay. He was a real person. Bucky wasn’t feeling like Bridget Fonda in “Single White Female” yet, so he took that as a good sign. Okay.

“Okay,” he sighed. He filled Iago’s dish and rinsed out her water bowl, which had spongy bits of food floating into it because she always used the damn thing as a slop trough while she was eating, instead of actually drinking her water when it was clear. Then, diva that she was, Iago would follow him to the bathroom sink, leap up onto the vanity, meow at him until he turned the faucet on to a fast drip, crawl into the basin and lap the stream. If she was feeling particularly fussy, she would wait for Bucky to push down the stopper and fill the sink with about an inch-and-a-half of water, because she expected impeccable service. Iago had _standards_. 

“And you tell me _I’m_ whipped?” Sam accused one night after he brushed his teeth and caught Bucky giving Iago her nightcap from the sink. 

“You are,” Bucky reminded him.

“Not even close, Barnes. That’s pitiful.”

“So are those lavender bath towels, buddy. My condolences.”

Bucky hoped his potential roommate – husband, his traitorous brain supplied, just to irk him, because God, he was so stressed – didn’t mind his or his cat’s eccentricities. Or his crazy morning hours and flour-dusted clothes and the way he would hog the couch and be completely ready to collapse every night when he returned from the bakery. Or the way he yelled at the screen when he watched Worst Cooks in America. Or Chopped. But those were the least of his worries.

He still had to convince this guy to pretend to be married to him. Or, as Nat put it, maybe even _actually_ marry him. Geez… Bucky had to message him back and arrange a meet-up. At least he had baked goods and decent coffee as a potential bribe. And Nat and Sharon could scope him out and perhaps run interference, in case things went sideways. He could end up being another Brock, and that thought made him shudder. That, Bucky did _not_ need.

So, he popped a Toaster Streudel into the toaster – don’t judge him, Bucky baked _all day_ and they were tasty and quick – and poured himself a glass of cranberry juice, then booted up his laptop to write out a decent email without ~~many~~ typos. 

_Hey, there! So, you’re interested in sharing an apartment? I’m glad that you replied, and that you were so quick about it. So, I said I’d give you more details._

_The place I’m interested in is on Dillingham Avenue. It’s this big brownstone, upstairs unit, and they listed it in the Pennysaver. I know, I’m old school, I look at want ads in newspapers, but the Zillow listings have sucked, lately. I’m ending my current lease. Had my tired slashed a while back outside my apartment, my roommate’s engaged and moving out, and I’m really stuck. I’ve got two weeks to find a place and someone to share rent who isn’t a deadbeat. And who likes cats. I have one. She’s spoiled, but she’s my fur baby. The only person I love more than Iago is my mom._

_So, here’s the thing about that rental: It’s for married couples only. I know, it’s not technically ‘legal.’ But I checked out the apartment, it’s clean, has nice plumbing, it’s close to EVERYTHING, has good light… and it’s an upstairs unit. That alone, I would give my right arm for, because my upstairs neighbors sound like a herd of elephants re-enacting “Stomp the Yard.”_

_I know this is a little… odd. Okay, VERY odd._

Bucky paused in his typing to take a bite of streudel, licking a hint of glaze off the corner of his mouth. Yeah. _That didn’t sound weird at all,_ his inner grown-up sneered. “Not _that_ weird,” he argued aloud as he went back to typing.

_So, what I’m proposing is this: We get married on paper. Just… being married enough. Enough to convince a landlord to let us sign jointly onto a lease. What do you think? Look, I know it sounds nuts-_

And Bucky paused again, because it sure as heck sounded nuts to _him_. But he plowed on, before he could change his mind.

_\- I think we could manage this. We might be able to pull it off. Put your name on a few utilities with me, carpool to work in front of the neighbors? It’s not like this would interrupt your social life. It really wouldn’t. I’m low-key about that kind of thing._

At least, Bucky thought he was. He didn’t want to date this guy. He was just considering fake-marrying him. How hard would it be to convince a landlord that he wouldn’t flake on his lease? Bucky was a stable person (for the most part). 

_Just think about it. Tell me to go to hell if you want, but I hope you’ll consider it. I’m running out of ideas and options, and it’s a nice apartment. This could work out for both of us. Let me know, okay?_

He signed off with his initials, “JBB.” He left his return cell number, too, just in case the guy wanted to catch him while he was at work. Bucky checked the time stamp on the message from “sgrogersscribbles” and noticed it was written at about four in the morning. That lent itself to the guy being an early bird. Okay. Another good sign. 

Bucky sighed. He was really going to do this. “Okay.” He hit “send” on his message and decided to log off. It was time to focus on his day, get ready for work and face the public. Hopefully not looking like a deer caught in the headlights, in the meantime…

It sucked to be so desperate.

*

 

Steve felt his phone buzz with a new message, making him pause with the razor poised over his lathered jaw. He tapped off the blade against the edge of the sink and wiped off his hands before picking it up. He swiped through his passcode and caught the subject line. “Geez,” he murmured. That response was faster than he expected.

Minutes later, he muttered an incredulous “Holy SHIT.”

*

 

“If this goes sideways, I’m blaming you,” Bucky told Nat later that morning as he rolled the Russian teacakes in powdered sugar. 

“Why? I just made a suggestion. No one chained you to your computer and made you type the email,” Nat claimed haughtily. “At least you made the effort. It’s good to think out of the box.”

“It’s still illegal.” Sharon was decorating cupcakes for a quinceanera they were catering, setting a little high-heeled shoe made of fondant atop each one. 

“What? Pretending to be married?” Bucky asked.

“Well, that. Kind of. But, this lady only wanting to rent to a married couple. That counts as renter discrimination.”

“Eh. Beats discriminating for any other reason.”

“I already asked her if we could set up a meeting for Friday,” Bucky told them. It was Wednesday, and he had a serious case of the jitters. “So I need a roommate, ASAP.”

“Husband,” Nat corrected him gleefully. “God, you might actually pull this off.”

“I just don’t know what to even say about this right now. I mean, it’s awesome if this guy comes through? I guess? Yet… what kind of guy says yes to a fake marriage proposal for an _apartment?_ ”

Bucky didn’t have an answer for Sharon, who was still giving him a funny look over the cupcakes. But any attempt at a reply was interrupted by a new phone message. He almost dropped his phone from floury hands and swiped the screen. He fist-pumped the air. “Yes! YES!”

“What?” Nat demanded, eyes widening. Sharon set down her pastry bag full of buttercream.

“Don’t tell me he actually agreed?” she said, aghast.

“I gave him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Look, listen to this: ‘Intriguing offer. The last time anyone proposed marriage to me involved a lot more drama than this and failed to launch. And here I am. But that apartment sounds sweet. Hope you don’t snore. When do you want to meet up?” 

Nat clapped her hands over her mouth and doubled over, letting out a shrill howl that made their customers glance up in amusement from their danishes. She stomped her feet, cheeks reddening as she pointed at Bucky and slapped the counter.

“Oh, my God,” she giggled. “Oh, my God. This is too… this is _awesome_.”

“Don’t make a scene,” Sharon chided sternly, even though Bucky saw amusement in the depths of her brown eyes. 

“No, no… this is so great,” she insisted. “You proposed to this guy in an email, and he said _yes_. It’s a love story of the ages.”

“Kinda is,” Sharon pointed out, voice dry. “Congratulations,” she added after a beat.

“Thanks?” Bucky raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 

“I get to be your best man,” Nat decided.

“Sam has to be my best man,” Bucky argued, earning himself her scowling pout.

“WHAT?!? Why? I was the one who told you to take out the ad and get married!”

That announcement was said a little too loudly, earning some curious looks from Bucky’s stay-at-home mom crowd. But he just smiled and nodded in their general direction and went back to his teacakes.

“It’s only fair. Besides,” Bucky told her, “now I have bragging rights over him. I’m getting married before he is, and he’s been engaged for over a year. He’s gonna kick my ass.”

*

 

So, they arranged to meet tomorrow. Which was now today.

Cue Bucky, waiting at one of his front tables, nursing a cup of coffee and a small plate of the peanut butter blossoms. He had a second cup of coffee sitting across the table from him in front of the empty chair, a suitable bribe. He was jittery and kept checking his grooming, making sure his shirt was tucked in and wrestling with the random, stray lock of hair that kept falling in his eyes. His eyes still had dark circles around them – from stress – and he hoped that didn’t put this guy – Steve, he’s finally told him – off of wanting to live with Bucky. 

And to _marry_ him. His heel bounced up and down as he waited for him to walk through the front door. Bucky was wearing his light blue flannel button-down, top button open to expose the neckline of the white tee that he had on underneath. He was wearing a pair of black jeans and a broken-in pair of brown loafers, wanting to look a little more “Ned Flanders,” and a little less “Jack Nicholson from The Shining.” He would do.

Bucky checked his watch. Five minutes until he arrived, if he was prompt. His heel continued to bounce. Bucky felt his palms begin to sweat.

Four minutes. He watched two college kids order double mochas and biscottis and pay for them in quarters, much to Sharon’s annoyance. Bucky gave them a stern look on their way out, which they ignored. Bucky remembered what it was like to rely on his caffeine fix while he was still a student, but that didn’t mean he spent his laundry money on it.

Three minutes and fifteen seconds. Three construction workers in orange safety vests and dirty boots coming in for scones. Bucky was glad that the apricot ones were selling well; he would keep them on the menu.

Two minutes. Where was he? 

“Stood up?” Nat called from behind the counter.

“Shut up, Nat.”

“Maybe he got cold feet,” she said unhelpfully.

“Not helping,” he sang.

Before the second hand could move the last fifteen ticks around the clock, Bucky heard the front door ding, interrupting his sip of coffee, followed by the rush of heavy footsteps and someone breathing a little hard. 

…but when he looked up, he only saw Steve, looking flustered. His eyes were scanning the shop, and that surprised Bucky. He wasn’t reading the menu like he usually did in order to grill Bucky to death about whether there were any additives in his granola. Then his eyes landed on Bucky, and whatever he’d been about to say evaporated on his lips. His brows drew together.

“Blue flannel,” he muttered.

“Huh?” Bucky cocked his head and leaned back in his seat. His heel ceased its frantic tattoo.

“You’re wearing blue flannel. James,” he pronounced. 

“That’s my first name,” Bucky confirmed. “But why are you ask…” His voice trailed off, and it took exactly three mortified seconds for it to sink in.

“Sharon,” Nat hissed from behind the counter. Her fiancée peered around the corner of the kitchen doorway, where she was wiping her hands on a battered towel.

“What?”

“You can’t miss out on this. Oh, my God. Look who answered his ad,” she half-whispered, and the two of them had to look away when Steve glanced in their direction. Sharon was suddenly very interested in the napkin dispenser, and Nat busied herself with the spindle of cake order slips.

Bucky felt his whole face flame scarlet, all the way up to his ears, and a hot rash of prickles ran over his flesh. Steve looked incredulous, and he glanced away, rubbing his temples. “Oh, wow,” he finally said. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

“This is a little awkward,” Steve agreed quietly. “So. Yeah. I’m Steve Rogers.”

“You’re not here for the cranberry muffins today, are you?”

“Not… yet.” A tiny smirk played at the corners of that full, pink mouth, and Bucky wanted to hate himself for finding it appealing, because they were both tangled in this sticky web with no clear way out.

“Don’t think that this means I’m gonna bake for you every day. Not above and beyond the stuff I make here, pal.”

Steve huffed, suppressing a laugh and folding his beefy arms. “Do I get a family discount?”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, it’s a valid question,” Steve prodded. “Shouldn’t that be a perk of marrying a baker?”

“I see how it is,” Bucky accused, shaking his head. “You just wanna get your hands on my goodies.”

The sound Nat made behind the counter was somewhere between a cackle and a shriek.


	4. This Ain’t a Movie, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hasty marriage. A sweet apartment. A reluctant couple at each other’s throats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeheeheeheehee.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“And stop tapping your foot. It’s annoying.”

“Oh, _I’m_ annoying?” Steve gave him a dubious look, and it had the result of stilling his foot, which satisfied Bucky. Until his fiancé opened his mouth. “You’re as bad as I am. _Worse,_ even.”

“Pffft… how am _I_ worse?”

“You shake your foot, too!”

“I don’t… that… much.” Bucky’s argument sounded deflated. “And it’s more annoying when you do it.”

Steve made a disparaging noise under his breath, folded his arms, and leaned away from Bucky where he sat in the uncomfortable, plastic seat at the county clerk’s office.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had cold feet, Rogers.”

“Ha-ha,” Steve told him. “You’re a card.”

They were both antsy, jittery, and anxious to get this over with. With their stiff body language and tight expressions, they weren’t exactly the picture of a radiant couple poised to take the first step on the journey of their lives. Bucky’s stomach was tied in knots; Steve’s jaw was set, with a small muscle ticking there as he ground his teeth. Bucky toyed with the edge of a fraying hold in his jeans.

“You couldn’t have made a little more effort?” Steve accused as he watched Bucky’s blunt fingertip run over the ragged threads. “I didn’t expect a tux, but seriously?”

“Oh, yeah. Under Armour’s all the rage now in wedding wear, pal.” Bucky gave him a tight little smile. “I mean, ‘Sweetheart.’”

“Geez. Just stop. It sounds creepy when you say it.” 

“Get used to it.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his neck, rotating it a little.

“Whatsamatter?”

“I’ve got a charlie horse. I’m all tight. Didn’t sleep.”

“What time did you go to bed?”

“Nine-thirty. But I was up a lot.”

“Tiny bladder?”

“No. Jerk…”

“M’just sayin’. Don’t drink too much before bedtime. Or eat sugar that late. That’ll keep you up and down from bed-“

“That’s not it.” Steve’s voice was sharp and lacked patience. “Enough about my bladder.”

“You normally a day person?”

“Yeah. I kinda am.” He folded his arms, because he couldn’t get comfortable, and it was making Bucky fidget, too, just watching Steve. “It’s just my nights that are difficult, sometimes.” He glanced at the clerk’s desk and listened to the young couple – younger than they were, the girl didn’t look a day over seventeen, but he heard her say that she was twenty – giving the clerk their birthdates and verifying which county they were each born in. She made a slight effort at wedding attire with a simple, white a-line dress that fell an inch or two above the knee and a lightweight blue cardigan. Her fiancée was shifting his weight from one foot to the other where he leaned against the counter, and he looked anxious but pleased. Every time she opened her mouth, he gave her a dopey little smile. 

Bucky sighed. _Must be nice_.

And it wasn't that Bucky didn’t believe in true love. Because, look at Monica and Sam. Or Nat and Sharon. The right person came along at the right time. That’s how it worked in everyone else’s universe, it seemed, but never his.

In the back of his mind, as he sat in the stuffy, blandly furnished clerk’s office, he thought to himself: At least I’m getting married first, out of all my friends. Whoop-de-doo.

Bucky knew that the wedding certificate was just a formality. Peggy, the owner of the building, said that she would have also accepted a shared utility bill or tax return as proof, but they were nowhere near tax season, and they weren’t sharing bills yet. It was going to be odd, calling up the electric company and telling them “I want to add my _husband_ to my account.” Surreal.

Ridiculous.

They heard feminine voices bickering in the corridor, just outside the glass door, and it swung open to admit Nat and Sharon. Both of them were wearing modest wrap dresses and sandals, looking better groomed then Bucky and Steve. Nat made a sound of disgust.

“This is honestly the best either of you could do?”

“It’s _our_ wedding day,” Steve argued back. 

“And we’ll cry if we want to,” Bucky added, because he couldn’t pass it up.

"I still get to be your best man,” Nat bragged. “Tell Wilson I said to suck it.”

“He had a teacher’s meeting,” Bucky reminded her. Being his best man, for _whatever_ this was, was a dubious honor, at best.

"Hey, ya snooze, ya lose.”

“I don’t have a best man,” Steve said indignantly. Nat made a silent “awwwwww” face and wiped away an imaginary tear. Steve crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue. Sharon snickered.

“I can stand up for you, Steve.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just get married. To a near stranger. With no one to give me away.” At the sound of the words “near stranger,” the reception glanced up and gave them all a wary look, but Steve smiled and nodded. _Nothing to see here._

“Well, I can,” Sharon offered again. “Seriously!”

“I know,” he said. “I’m just giving you a hard time.”

“This is what I have to look forward to,” Bucky muttered with a roll of his eyes, but his lips fought a smirk. 

Yet Bucky felt a little guilty that Steve really _didn’t_ have anyone to stand up for him. Bucky asked if he had a coworker or family member or anyone that he wanted to bring along, and he’d just shaken his head, saying “Let’s just get this done. We’re moving on.”

So. That was that.

They had come to the clerk’s desk three days prior to file the papers for the license and pay the fees. That was a furtive trip; they rode together, each of them uncomfortable and quiet in Bucky’s car. Steve looked less than impressed by Bucky’s choice of music, but he didn’t attempt to change the song. He just stared out the passenger window, reading road signs and picking at a stray thread on his jeans. They reached the counter when it was their turn in line, and when the receptionist asked how she could help them, they tried to speak over each other.

“License. Marriage license,” Bucky blurted out.

“We want a civil wedding,” Steve clarified.

“Well, for that, you need a license,” the receptionist told them, and Bucky allowed himself a satisfied, tight little smile at Steve, who narrowed his eyes back at him. She went to the counter behind her and opened a cabinet, withdrawing a handful of forms. “Okay. Fill out the first two sheets, read and sign the third. I’m going to need to see IDs. Gotta make sure you two are legal,” she chirped, enjoying their looks of barely tolerant amusement. The two of them sat down with clipboards and filled out the paperwork after handing her their ID cards to copy.

“Geez. Your handwriting. It’s like chicken scratch.”

“It’s not that bad,” Bucky hissed under his breath. “Look at yours. It’s all loopy. Do you dot your I’s with little hearts?”

“No,” Steve harped back. “Jerk. My writing’s _legible_.”

“Bet your third grade teacher loved you with that penmanship. Here, let me get you a little sticker to put at the top…”

“Are you always this salty? Is this what I’m in for?” Steve wondered, pinning Bucky with a look. 

“You said my handwriting sucks!”

“No. I called it chicken scratch. Totally different.”

“How is that _different_?”

“I didn’t say it sucks. Even if it kinda does. Seriously. I kinda does, Buck. Do Nat and Sharon do the writing on the birthday cakes?”

They did. “Can you shut up, already? Fill out your form.”

Steve huffed. “They do nice work, by the way.”

“Maybe you should write them a letter expressing how much you appreciate their talents. Don’t forget to heart the I’s.”

Steve sighed. “Here’s to one year of domestic bliss.”

*

They had already contacted the landlord, one Mrs. Margaret Jones-Carter, and she was delighted that they were interested in renting the unit; the other applicants were only interested in short-term, something that had worked against her own interests in the past. So, apparently, had renting the unit to cohabitating couples without rings on their fingers. 

“I knew as soon as the ink was dry on their lease that they wouldn’t last three months,” Margaret, or Peggy, had explained when she gave them the nickel tour of the apartment. “You can tell these things by the way two people are around each other. He looked ready to head for the hills while she was going on and on about the light in the dining room and if it was all right to hang curtains.” Steve and Bucky merely smiled and nodded, asking polite questions about each room. 

The apartment was gorgeous.

New carpeting in a soft shade of sage green. The walls were painted in cream semi-gloss, showing off the crown moldings and the wainscoting. The brick fireplace was welcoming and visions of saving on his heating bill that winter danced in Bucky’s head. There was beautiful travertine tile in the kitchen and chrome appliances. “I just installed a new fan in the bathroom,” Peggy told them proudly. “No excuse for not turning it on, boys.”

The master bedroom was spacious, and Bucky wondered if he and Steve would have to flip a coin to decide who would get it. The second room was decent, but it only had a single closet instead of the walk-in one in the master. Bucky noticed Steve mentally asking the same questions as Peggy pointed out the plant shelves and built-in bookshelves. Steve was tactile, Bucky noticed; he loved touching everything, running his artist’s fingertips over the Corian countertops, the paint, the vertical blinds over the patio door. Bucky vaguely wondered what kind of kid he must have been, if he was the type whose mom had to scold him to quit picking up everything in the store. 

“It’s so clean,” Steve remarked.

“Yes. I had my service come in two days ago to freshen it up. They did a nice job with the baseboards.” Peggy was pleasant but no-nonsense, still relatively fit for a woman of about seventy. She wore a ladylike red twinset with a navy blue skirt and spool-heeled pumps. Her hair was pinned back, mostly gray but still soft and thick. She wore red lipstick like she had invented it, and her smile was canny and tart.

“So. You have the application, boys. I’d like it by Friday, along with a copy of your ID cards and socials. I will file that with my management company.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky replied easily.

Peggy smiled again. “I won’t be filing a copy of your marriage certificate with the management company. But I still expect it before you sign the lease agreement.”

“Can’t just trust us for our good looks, huh?” Steve teased, and Bucky’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. What was _wrong_ with this guy?

“Not in this lifetime, dear. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Peggy sighed. “Look at the two of you. So young. Your life together is just beginning, isn’t it?”

Steve blushed like a tomato. Bucky floundered for a moment. “We think we took the right step. At the right time,” Bucky offered. He hated how stiff his voice sounded, but Steve, thankfully, decided to roll with it.

“I couldn’t say no to this guy.”

“I can’t imagine you could. You said you own a bakery?” Peggy asked, and Bucky floundered some more.

“I do. ‘Hey There, Babycakes.’”

“Oh. That’s yours? One of the girls in my bridge club brought over a torte for our Wednesday match last week. It was delightful!”

“We pride ourselves on our quality.”

“Indeed. You should.” She gestured to Steve, winking at Bucky. “You’ll fatten this one up.”

Bucky smiled, considering Steve, mentally shaking his head. No. Not Steve. Not picky, workout addict Steve. Not if he made Bucky want to strangle him first.

“I can’t resist his muffins,” Steve admitted. That, at least, was the truth.

“Nope. Sure can’t. Can’t resist _these muffins_.” Bucky’s tone held a lascivious note, and Steve’s eyes narrowed. He was blushing again, and Bucky wasn’t sorry at all.

“Oh, goodness. You two,” Peggy muttered. “Anyway, boys, let’s wrap this up. Friday. Paperwork. Copies. Signatures and security deposit. Then you’ll get your keys. Welcome to the neighborhood!”

“We’ll be happy here,” Steve assured her, and because the morning hadn’t been stressful enough for Bucky, Steve reached down and took his hand, wrapping his fingers around it and giving it a meaningful squeeze. Bucky noticed they were almost the same height, shoulders bumping together, and his eyes flitted over Steve’s face. Steve’s careful smile was in place, but there was wickedness in his eyes that Bucky had never seen before. Something calculating.

Bucky wondered how he managed to feel afraid and a little aroused at the same time. Steve’s hand was hot, and he was close enough to smell the detergent on his shirt and his aftershave. Bucky cleared his throat.

“That’s what I like to see,” Peggy encouraged. “Well. I think we’re done here.”

*

And that brought them here, to this moment. In this place. With Nat and Sharon as witnesses.

Bucky didn’t think this was what his parents had in mind when they asked him when he planned to settle down.

“Are you ready?” The officiant was a women of middle years, and then some, wearing her silver hair carefully teased and sprayed and her horn-rimmed glasses on a beaded chain. She looked plump and motherly, and she smiled at Steve and Bucky as though they had just arrived at their first Boy Scout den meeting.

“Sure are,” Steve said brightly, giving her a Colgate smile that made Bucky twitch. _Wow_. That wasn’t typical at all. Bucky was used to his I’m-going-to-politely-insult-your-banana-bread-before-I-ask-for-something-not-on-the-day’s-specials smile. Or his sorry-I-stole-your-parking-space-even-though-its-marked smile. Or even that little awkward smile he gave Bucky once he realized who posted the ad for a ~~roommate~~ *husband*. But this was a toothy, eye-brightening smile that showed off the crowns of his cheekbones and that made his eyes crinkle. Sharon must have been surprised, too, and a little impressed, as she turned and gave Bucky a look that begged, _Who knew?_

“You two stand here beside each other. You can hold hands if you want,” she told them cheerfully. Nat bit her lip and managed to maintain a straight face. Bucky felt his skin burn and his mouth go a little dry.

“Uh-“

“Quit bein’ bashful,” Steve teased, and Bucky nearly jumped a mile as his warm, strong fingers wrapped around his. “After all his time, he picks now to get cold feet.”

_seriously???_

Nat’s shoulders shook, but she composed herself quickly. Sharon raised one sandy brow and watched them expectantly.

“ _I’ve_ got cold feet? Who dragged _his_ feet buyin’ a guy a ring?” Because Bucky could be petty, too, pal…

The officiant just kept smiling, and Bucky honestly wanted to kill Steve. He wanted to get this farce over with, and everything about this felt wrong, wrong, wrong, but it was necessary, like cutting off a wart. Yet Steve’s smile was smug, and he _tightened_ his grip on Bucky’s hand.

“Lighten up,” Steve urged. “It’s our big day, big guy.”

“Do you have any vows written that you’d like me to include?” their officiant, Helen, asked kindly as she glanced back and forth between them. “It’s nice to personalize it. You’re making a memory.”

Bucky felt Steve flinch, then stiffen. He maintained that bright smile, though. Somehow.

“If there’s a part where we can add a little something, I wouldn’t mind,” Steve said.

“Oh?” Sharon inquired. “A little something special?”

“Because I’ve got a special fella.”

Bucky smirked and his eyes darted to the floor. Gads, this man was a bastard. Showing him up and twisting the screws a little tighter. Bucky just wanted to get out of there with his marriage certificate and sign the lease, unpack his X-Box in his new living room, and eat frosted mini-wheats in his kitchen without listening to a hail of police sirens in the background.

Helen read from her book on the small pulpit, beckoning to them, and Steve and Bucky straightened up and gave her their full attention, putting mental images of unpacking their new apartment aside. “The wedding ring is a symbol of unity, a circle unbroken, without beginning or end,” she intoned in a clear, sweet voice, “and today, Steven Grant and er, is it James, or-“

“Bucky,” he corrected her.

“Right,” Steve murmured under his breath, as though he had just remembered that Bucky – his groom – went by another first name. Oyyyyyyyy…

“Steven Grant and Bucky give and receive these rings as demonstrations of their vows to make their life one, to work at all times to create a love that is whole and unbroken, and to love each other without end.” Helen was beaming, and Bucky felt Nat and Sharon’s eyes on them both. This felt so awkward and strange, and he was conscious of his toes throbbing in his shoes, of the traitorous way that his hand, wrapped in Steve’s, was beginning to sweat. He could hear his own uneven breathing, and when he listened closely enough, Steve’s. 

Weddings were supposed to be family affairs. There was supposed to be a walk down the aisle down a tasseled runner, with flowers and candles on the altar and cute little girls showering the floor with rose petals and ringbearers throwing tantrums. There were supposed to be crying mothers and aunts and groomsmen who were thankful that it wasn’t them making that march, whether they’d done it before or they never planned to, because it was the groom’s turn for the hot seat. There was supposed to be a familiar wedding march and cameras clicking as people ooh’ed and aah’ed. It was supposed to feel special.

Bucky could hear office phones ringing in the background and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Nat, just to get his goat, was filming it all on her camera phone for posterity. And because, he thought to himself, she hated him a little. He needed new friends…

 

Bucky tugged his hand from Steve’s and reached into his pocket for Steve’s ring, and Steve mimicked the action, then examined the simple, tungsten band. They agreed that there was no point in getting fancy, even though Bucky had been tempted by the one embossed with little skulls. Nat stopped his hand from mouse-clicking the “Add to Cart” button and manhandled him away from his laptop to make a more suitable choice, earning his grumbled insistence that he wasn’t a child, and that he could pick out his own wedding band, thank-you very much.

“Read this line, Steven,” Helen urged, pointing to it. 

Steve smiled, and he took Bucky’s hand in his again, lifting it up, and Bucky straightened his fingers in anticipation, but his heart was pounding. “I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband.”

“Partner,” Bucky argued. “We said partners.”

“Husband,” Steve countered. “That’s what we told P-“

“Husband,” Bucky agreed automatically, nearly biting his tongue. Shit. Right. Peggy.

“Before these witnesses, I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live.” And so help him, Bucky almost liked Steve. Look at him, he marveled silently. Poor guy was turning pink, all the way up to his ears. “I take you, with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and I will turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person whom I will spend the rest of my life with.” 

Bucky repeated it when it was his turn, not hedging at all, wanting to spare Steve further awkwardness. “I take you to be my lawfully wedded husband. Before these witnesses, I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you, with all your faults and strengths, as I offer myself to you with all my faults and strengths.” Bucky paused and gave Steve an apologetic look. _I’ve got a lot of ‘em, pal,_ he almost added. “I will help you when you need help, and I will turn to you whenever I need help. “I choose you as the person whom I will spend the rest of my life with.” 

Helen nodded and continued, and Bucky felt Nat filming him and wanted to hiss at her to stop, because he didn’t even want to know what kind of expression he was making right now. His heart was still beating in a weird rhythm, he was sweating like a yeti in summertime, and Steve slid the ring halfway up his finger, glancing at Helen, who nodded for him to put it all the way on Bucky. “Steven and Bucky, just as two very different threads woven in opposite directions can form a beautiful tapestry, so can your two lives merge together to form a very beautiful marriage. To make your marriage work will take love. Love should be the core of your marriage, love is the reason you are here. But it also will take trust; you must know in your hearts that you want the best for each other. It will take dedication, to stay open to one another; to learn and to grow together even when this is not always so easy to do. 

It will take faith, to be willing to go forward to tomorrow, never really knowing what tomorrow will bring. In addition, it will take commitment, to hold true to the journey, that you both now pledge to share together." 

She paused. "Steve, was there anything you wanted to add?"

And Bucky realized that Steve was floored, like it was just sinking in with him, too, what they were doing. There was so much uncertainty in those baby blue eyes. It made Bucky chafe, but he pushed it down. "Y'know, I think we're good, this time around, Helen." Sharon smothered a snicker and looked away.

Steven and Bucky in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, I now declare you to be Husband and Husband.”

Nat made an eager noise, not quite a squeal, and Sharon grinned and clapped her hands. “Yay!” she told them on a murmur, then gave them a thumbs-up.

Bucky wanted to sink into the floor. But he slid Steve’s ring onto his finger and gave him a helpless smile that he hoped didn’t make him look constipated. “Hey. Husband.”

Steve grinned, and the expression was shit-eating. “Hey, big daddy.”

“He liked it, and he went and put a ring on it,” Nat announced. 

“Congratulations,” Helen said through a fixed smile, because of _course_ she had heard _that_ one a thousand times. “You may now kiss the groom.”

_Shit._

The enormity of it hit Bucky, at that moment. A kiss. A _kiss_. in front of _witnesses_. They were supposed to do this. Because they just got _married_.

And Steve was still holding his hand, and Bucky’s pulse was racing, sending little chills up his back. This was supposed to be simple, right? He’d kissed guys in public before, but it often involved alcohol and eighties’ Wham or Mr. Mister ballads droning in the background and a darkened corner of a dingy bar. Or the basement of a college party, sagging into the dilapidated cushions of a questionable-smelling overstuffed couch or futon. And he usually had to _like_ him. That was the rule.

Steve was looking expectant, maybe a little resigned, and that got Bucky’s back up.

 

“Aw, c’mon, guys,” Nat cheered. “Give us one for the scrapbook.”

“I want it on a refrigerator magnet,” Sharon said.

And Steve was leaning in hesitantly, and Bucky made the command decision to get this over with, and, driven by his inner id, to make this _good_. He met Steve more than halfway, pressing himself into Steve’s space, hand sliding up Steve’s shoulder, and he kissed him like he was making a statement. He heard Steve’s little huff of surprise and stunned little “uunfhh!” and saw his eyes widen for a second before they flickered shut.

Wow.

Breath mint. 

Bucky was impressed. Or was it Binaca spray?

Steve’s lips were soft and warm, and they yielded for Bucky. Bucky lightly sucked on the lower one, just to tease him, and he felt Steve's response. _Take that, Big Daddy._ The kiss lasted a polite three seconds before Bucky withdrew.

He was pleased with his new husband’s stunned look. There. That would do it. Gads, he was red as a beet.

“Okay. I’ll print the marriage certificate,” Helen said. “Great job, boys!” She patted them both and walked ahead of them to the office. 

“Is that how you treat all your husbands?” Steve muttered under his breath, out of her earshot.

“Practice,” Bucky reminded him. “Get with the program, Rogers.”

“You two have gotta work on your pet names,” Sharon told them, shaking her head. Bucky ignored her as he walked out of the ceremony room like a boss, ready to sign the piece of paper that would land the two of them on Easy (Easier, Kinda) Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short. The next chapter will have a bit more meat. And be a tad ridiculous.


	5. This Ain't the Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The honeymoon. The housewarming. The fight over the Target price scanner gun.
> 
> Oyyyyyyy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never said I was sane. Thank you for reading, if any of you still are. Props again to debwalsh for bidding.

Steve rode on the passenger side again, still staring at the window, but this time, he was stroking his simple tungsten band with his thumb, musing.

“I told you that you could’ve had your mom here for it, Rogers.”

“This isn’t her thing. This isn’t something she would have gone along with, Buck. Can we drop it?” Steve snapped.

“Whoa. Sorry.” Bucky’s tone was just as terse, but he smiled over his steering wheel, without facing Steve. “Didn’t mean to make the offer to share this with our families.”

“Are you sharing it with yours?” Steve countered.

“My sister knows. I tell Becca everything.”

“Oh. Well, you’re practically shouting it from the rooftops. How romantic.”

“Hey. I’m the _king_ of romance, and don’t’ you forget it, pal. I even shaved today. And I put on clean underwear.”

“Be still, my heart.”

“Hey, just so we’re clear? Just… I don’t want to have to lie. Not outright,” Bucky said. “I mean, on paper, sure. To my parents… not so much. We’re married.”

“Roommates,” Steve said through his teeth. “We’re _roommates_.”

“Husbands. Just get used to the idea. Because Peggy’s going to be coming around, expecting a couple of married men doing married _things_ , and it’ll look a little weird if you act like you hate me. I’m just sayin’. It’s just a shot in the dark, but maybe we need a back story.”

“I already told Mom that I knew you a long time ago,” Steve said. “It’s not that far off the mark. I’ve been coming into your shop forever.”

“That counts,” Bucky agreed. 

“We’re already sharing parking,” Steve joked, but his smile was brittle.

“Don’t get your hopes up.”

*

They ended up having a post-wedding lunch with Nat and Sharon at their favorite little Greek bistro downtown. Sharon ordered the dolmas, and Bucky ordered the falafel balls and dip. The four of them shared the food around the table as they chatted, and the air among them gradually grew less tense.

“So, you guys are hitched, now,” Nat mentioned. “What now?”

“We sign the lease. I don’t have much to move.”

“Shit.” Bucky stared at Steve. “What’re we gonna do about furniture? How are we going to have enough room for it all? Do you have a storage space?”

“Don’t need one. I downsized my stuff a few months ago. Just have my bedroom set, a few dishes, and my bathroom stuff. And my art desk. That’s it.” Steve fished the lemon wedge out of his water, annoyed that the server included it after he told her he didn’t want it. “It’s in my mom’s basement.”

“You were living with your mom?” Sharon inquired.

“Uh-huh. I moved out here to be closer to her. I was up in Oregon, for a while.”

“And you said you’re an artist?” Nat asked him.

“A graphic designer. I do different things. I dabble,” he told her simply.

“You married a dabbler,” Nat told Bucky smugly.

“Shouldn’t have told us that,” Sharon warned. “You might have to dabble us something for the shop. Like the menus, for one. We’ve had the old ones since we opened the shop, and they could use some pizzazz.”

“What else do you dabble in, Steve?” Nat wanted to know. Bucky popped a falafel ball into his mouth, fine with not chiming in.

“This and that. Typography. Painting. Thrift store shopping. I like to refinish furniture and build stuff, like book shelves. At least, I did. No room to do that, now. And no time.”

“Just gotta make time,” Nat said. 

“Easier said than done,” Steve countered as he dipped one of the dolmas into the tzatziki and popped it into his mouth. “Aren’t enough hours in the day.”

“Sounds like you and Bucky will manage just fine.” Sharon’s voice was cheerful but didn’t reassure anyone. “Bucky starts each day at the crack of dawn. You married a workaholic.”

“With no social life,” Nat added.

“You two can’t judge me.” Bucky sat back and folded his arms. “Your idea of a hot Friday night date is to eat Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby and watch ‘My 600-Lb Life.’”

“It comes on other nights besides Friday,” Nat informed him. “And I _will_ judge you, James. It’s been forever since you’ve been on _any_ kind of date. “

“Please fix that, Steve,” Sharon said, rolling her eyes towards him. “Get Bucky out of the house once in a while.”

“Uh…” Steve’s expression was confused. “Y’know… this whole ‘dating’ thing…” He put quotes around the word with his fingers. 

“This whole ‘marriage’ thing? It’s just for show, remember?” Bucky dipped another piece of the falafel into the sauce. 

“All the better to go on a few dates,” Nat said. 

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” Sharon gave them a benign smile. Bucky knew better than to trust it by now. “Practice makes perfect.”

“What? Like a rehearsal?”

“No. Like the whole performance, full dress, curtains up, right under the spotlight,” Sharon told Bucky, amused at his incredulous look. “Make it convincing. Once you sign the lease, the apartment’s yours, but if the two of you suddenly have a parting of ways…?” She left it dangling, but Nat picked up the thread.

“Your landlady might feel her generosity was taken advantage of.”

“Even though it isn’t completely on the up-and-up that she wanted us to be married in the first place,” Steve pointed out. “And it’s not like I want to move out before the end of the year. Not unless I really have to. S’not like I’m getting any better offers.”

Nat’s brows furrowed, and Sharon’s easy smile dropped. Bucky felt an odd wave of sympathy.

“Yeah. Well. You and me both, pal. Y’know what? We can do this.” Bucky downed half of his water, then took Steve’s abandoned lemon slice and squeezed the rest of it into his own glass. “We’ll manage. And if we don’t, then we kissed a year of our lives goodbye. Lord knows I’ve done _that_ before.”

Steve gave him a dubious look, then huffed when he saw Bucky set down the depleted lemon wedge. “Fair enough.”

“Let me get a picture of you two,” Nat decided, pulling out her phone again.

“Can we not?” Steve pleaded.

“Hey, we’re building evidence of your life together. This is you, now.” She took their photo, and Bucky’s eyes were narrowed and unamused; she captured Steve just as he rolled his. “Oh, that’s going in a frame, boys.”

“You suck,” Bucky pronounced.

*

Bucky and Steve went to the rental office, completed their paperwork, signed the lease and initialed every page of the move-in agreement. Bucky reluctantly forked over the pet deposit, imagining his scaled-down grocery list for the week, but there was no way he was giving up Iago. She was the only one in his life who understood him and who didn’t judge his life choices ~~much~~. Sam’s stuff was already packed, and he was moving out in three days. Bucky was already dreading his departure, but there was no help for it. He wished him all the best, and Bucky almost wished Sam was taking Bucky with him.

Peggy met them at the apartment with the keys, and they did the final walk-through. “They did another quick clean, steamed the carpets, and changed a blown bulb in the bathroom, gentlemen.” Peggy beamed. “It’s going to look so nice once you move your things in here. Back in the olden days, your home wasn’t ready for company until you hung curtains in the windows, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Steve offered. He elbowed Bucky, prompting him and annoying him in one gesture. “Did you know that, Buck?”

“No. Sure didn’t.”

“Well, get cracking!” Peggy ordered, curling the corners of her scarlet-painted lips. “You’ll want to have company here at some point. It’s a truly lovely flat.”

“Feels like home to me,” Steve told her, and Bucky was almost convinced. There was still a tightness in Steve’s voice that he never quite dispelled, no matter how brightly Steve smiled. Peggy must have noticed, too.

“It will be if you make it one, dear. This husband of yours,” Peggy tutted to Bucky. “You’re going to have to get him to lighten up. He needs some attention.”

“Uh…”

“Go on. Give him some sugar.”

“He’s bashful,” Bucky explained, but he took Steve’s hand companionably, giving it a squeeze. He felt every nerve in Steve’s arm jump for a moment, then relax, and he felt the weight of Steve’s stare on his face. Man, this guy needed to lighten up. 

“Don’t worry about being improper. Indulge me. Show him some appreciation!” Peggy’s eyes twinkled. “Gabriel – my husband, heaven rest his soul – had no reservations about kissing me in public. Etiquette isn’t a priority when you’re in love.”

“Well, it still can be,” Steve hedged.

“Ridiculous. Go on.” This was directed at Bucky, along with a little, impatient wave.

“Uh-“

“Kiss him, you ninny!”

There was that rash of prickles creeping over Bucky’s skin, and Steve glanced over at him, still smiling, but he was turning pink, and Bucky read panic in those baby blues, even behind his reading glasses. Bucky gave him an apologetic smile and squeezed his hand again, and he leaned in quickly before Steve could protest and kissed him soundly, smothering Steve’s little “mmmmph” and obliterating any argument. And Steve… geez, he was being pretty accommodating again, those lips were good at doing what they were told, they were yielding to Bucky, and for one satisfying moment, he felt Steve’s fingers tightening their grip on him, felt his momentum shift as Steve tilted his face and deepened the kiss.

If Bucky didn’t know better, he’d think Steve was _hungry_ for it.

Steve broke the kiss and withdrew, eyes hazy behind his glasses. He used his free hand to push them back up his hose, but… wow. His lips were pink, puffy and tempting Bucky. He pushed down that urge. That wasn’t… that was just a plain _bad_ idea.

"All right, that's enough," Peggy teased, eyes dancing. She waved them on as she headed for the door. “Make sure to introduce yourselves around a bit. I already told my other tenants you were moving in this week. Most of them are decent people,” Peggy assured them. “Watch out for Mr. Barton’s dog, though. That one’s a licker.”

“Hey, Peggy?” Steve followed her to the door, and she paused for a moment. “Can I just say, thank you for renting to us. This is huge. This is such a lovely apartment and such an improvement on where we were both- on where we were before,” Steve corrected himself. Bucky pushed down a ripple of panic at Steve’s near misstep. Peggy nodded.

“Hmm. I gathered as much from this one’s” and she pointed to Bucky as she said it, “address of his last residence.” Bucky ducked his face and rubbed his nape, but he couldn’t suppress his smile. “I’m glad you made it here intact.” Bucky crossed the room to join Steve in telling her goodbye, not wanting to be outdone by his husband ~~roommate~~.

“My car thanks you, too. Now I won’t find it up on cinderblocks again.”

“Goodness gracious,” Peggy tsked, and she reached out to gently touch Bucky’s shoulder. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Ta, now.”

“Goodbye,” Steve said, waving awkwardly. Bucky returned her parting smile before they closed the door. Both of them let out a harsh breath.

“Whoo.” Steve lowered his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “That was stressful. Wow.”

“Almost slipped up there for a sec, buddy.”

“It was fine. We did fine,” Steve insisted. “We’re officially wed. And we’re on the lease for a year. One less headache to worry about.”

“That… is just so romantic,” Bucky accused, voice flat as he rolled his eyes. “I get it. This is a little over the top.”

“The kiss was over the top, yes.”

Because Steve didn’t tiptoe around the elephant in the room; he invited it to prop its feet on the coffee table, eat pizza and watch Netflix.

“Sorry.”

“Could you give me a little more warning?”

“Nope.” Bucky shrugged at him. “What? I’m supposed to say the secret password? Shine the Bat signal? When Peggy ordered me to kiss you, that should have been ‘signal’ enough, pal.”

“It wasn’t an order,” Steve argued. “It was a suggestion.”

“’Kiss him, you ninny!’” Bucky imitated, making a ridiculous attempt to copy her accent and feminine lilt. Steve frowned, but Bucky could tell he was trying not to laugh. “That was an order. There was nothing suggestive about it.”

“Riiiiiiight.”

“Hey, I said I’m sorry, all right? It’s not like I came into this with a little guide book on how to pretend to be married. But I don’t think it’s a great idea to let the person you’re trying to convince that you both lived in different places until just _recently_.”

“Okay. I almost slipped up. You already said that. I get it. I’ll get it right the next time around. Geez.” Steve let out an exasperated breath and headed for his jacket hanging on the peg by the door. “I’ve got errands to run and I have to see about borrowing my friend’s pickup truck.”

“I’m renting a U-Haul,” Bucky told him. “I can move us both.”

“I don’t have that much,” Steve reminded him as he shrugged his way into his jacket with sharp, hasty movements and straightened his collar. “It won’t take me that long to move in. I can manage fine on my own, Buck.”

“But. I’m offering to help. You don’t _have_ to do this yourself. That’s the whole point of being married, I thought. To help each other out in a clinch? No? Am I reading this wrong?” Bucky gave Steve’s shoulder a little shove. “Look. You did me a _huge_ favor, here. I’ve been alive long enough for people to do me some awesome favors. Cat-sitting while I’m on vacation. Being driven home when I’m passed out drunk. Nat and Sharon taking over the shop when I was out on disability. That stuff’s huge. But, Steve. You _married_ me to help me get in here. It’s wrong to play favorites, but you did me my Absolute Favorite Favor Ever. It’s not a competition, but you won.” Steve huffed and gave Bucky a crooked smile. 

“You’re insane.”

“I make it work.”

“Guess I’m crazy, too, for going along with it.”

“Let me help you move.”

Steve considered it for a moment, and Bucky gave Steve his best approximation of a puppy dog look. “Help me help you,” Bucky pleaded, quoting Tom Cruise in “Jerry McGuire.”

“That’s cheesy. But effective. Okay. You can help move me.”

Bucky clapped his hands and hopped up and down. “YAY!”

“No. Don’t. Just don’t. Stop that.”

*

 

“You’re batshit. You’ve lost your damned mind.” Becca wiped her forehead on her sleeve after closing up Bucky’s box of pots and pans with packing tape. “Have you told Mom and Dad yet?”

“Not in so many words. They know I’m moving, and they know I’m splitting rent.”

“Jesus, Bucky! So, you’re telling me I’m the only one who knows you just married a perfect stranger to get an apartment?”

“Pretty much. And Becks, he’s not a ‘perfect’ stranger. Trust me. Ain’t nothin’ about Steve Rogers that’s perfect. And I know him from the bakery. Sort of.”

“Bucky. Seriously?” she whined, shoulders sagging. “Why? You couldn’t have used a roommate finder Web site?”

“Tried it. Tried Craigslist. Asked friends of a friend if they had a friend. I did my networking and asked all my connections. It’s a sweet apartment. I have a sweet landlady. It’s in an awesome neighborhood and I can afford the rent and keep my bakery and my cat. Tell me why this is a problem.”

“Bucky. You don’t _know_ him, know him. You really don’t. This is insane. And your new landlady believes that you’re married?”

“Sure seems to. She stood there waiting for me to kiss him.”

“Uh…” Becca’s mouth hung open.

“She told me to give him a kiss. Had to put a little effort into it.”

“Oh, my God. You kissed your fake husband.” Becca reached for another flat box and began to fold it while Bucky continued to roll his glassware in newspaper. “And he was just okay with it?”

“More or less.” Steve might have acted like Bucky had just spit in his coffee at the time, Bucky didn’t add. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like we’ll have to even spend that much time together. We’re both busy people.”

“You got married. Hey,” she said, frowning and planting her hand on her hip as it occurred to her, “you didn’t invite me to your _wedding_?!?”

“It was just a civil thing at the court house- OW!” Bucky nursed the sting in his upper arm where she punched him. “That wasn’t very nice!”

“You’re an asshole,” she railed. “You didn’t even invite your own sister to your wedding. I’m so pissed at you, Bucky!”

“You didn’t miss anything. Besides, Nat took pictures.”

“What? Nat was there?!”

“Yes. I needed a witness. She brought Sharon.”

“Wow. I’m disowning you. I no longer have a brother,” she said simply, and Becca shrugged again. “It was nice knowing you. I’m an only child, now. Who are you?”

“You wouldn’t have lasted one day as an only child.”

Becca pouted. “You’re right. Jerk.”

“Look, it wasn’t anything special.”

“That’s because I wasn’t there. And neither was Mom. Or Dad. Or any of your friends. You’re ridiculous, James Buchanan. Honestly.”

“Still love me?”

“Yes. And I’m regretting it.”

“You still love me, though.”

“Oh, pack your glasses,” she carped.

Bucky’s bedroom and bathroom items were already packed, and his bedframe was already folded and leaning against the wall alongside his mattress. It felt odd to see the divots left in the carpet from the feet of his couch and coffee table. Bucky’s shoulder was already throbbing from the reaching and lifting, scrubbing and vacuuming, and the repetitive motions of folding, rolling, taping and packing all morning. They had the window open to air out the apartment and to let out the fumes from the oven cleaner foam; it had been a dog’s age since he last cleaned his range, and Bucky felt a little ashamed. He figured there had to be drippings burned onto the bottom element from at least six different fruit pies, his Thanksgiving turkey, and a pizza that he went a little overboard with on the cheese. Iago meowed impatiently from her cat carrier, having been put in time-out because she escaped the apartment every time Becca and Bucky carried out a piece of furniture that took both of them lifting it. She would dart out ahead of them, narrowly avoiding being trampled while they hoisted Bucky’s loveseat.

“Sorry, baby,” Bucky called out to her. She returned a little snarl in the back of her throat that made Becca snicker.

“She’s not happy with you. Might wanna lock your door tonight.”

“She’ll be less disgruntled once she’s in her new space. Peggy said it was okay to put up some shelves. I might build her a kitty highway.”

“What does your new husband – my brother-in-law – think of this?” Becca sighed. “God, that sounds weird.”

“He’s fine with it. I told you, we’ll manage. Shouldn’t be much drama at all.”

*

Becca stayed behind to put the finishing touches on Bucky’s exit cleaning while Bucky drove the U-Haul to meet Steve at the address he gave. Bucky was surprised that his GPS pointed him through a very suburban neighborhood. “Hnh. Wow.” Bucky steered the truck onto the cul-de-sac and parked in the curve for a moment while he counted house numbers. “Okay. Twenty-six eleven Oak. There it is.” He pulled up in front of the house, large enough to be a duplex at first glance. Why was Steve leaving this place?

Bucky recognized Steve’s car out front, the same one that he loved to sneak into Bucky’s parking space at the bakery. Bucky pulled into the driveway and gave the horn a little honk to let him know he was there. Bucky noticed Steve had his windows open, making him wonder if Steve was airing out his place, too, while he was cleaning.

Bucky made his way to the door, and Steve beat his reach for the knob, pulling it open before he could knock. 

He somehow managed to make rumpled look good; Steve’s blond hair was sticking up a little from the heat of the day, and his t-shirt had creases in it from hefting boxes and was partially untucked. “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour.”

“Becca is still back at my place, with Iago.”

“Okay.” Steve stood back to let Bucky in, and he was impressed with Steve’s efforts so far. There were taped up boxes everywhere, his mattress set was already in the front room, and Bucky was surprised to find no couches or tables. “My desk is the only big item I haven’t brought out, yet. I have a lot of my projects still out on it. It’s going to take me a while to pack up my art supplies.”

“Might’ve been nice if you could have gotten a jump on it last night,” Bucky suggested as he went to pick up Steve’s folded metal bed frame.

“Someone was up until midnight dealing with something more important,” Steve snapped. “Thanks for the suggestion.”

“Help me help you,” Bucky reminded him. 

“Please tell me this isn’t going to be a thing. That this isn’t going to be us,” Steve groaned. “Bucky. I’m _sorry_. Okay? My art stuff is my life. It’s important. Just like your cat. You would pack her up last. Right?”

“It’s not quite… okay. All right. Fair enough. Sorry.” Bucky’s shoulder was throbbing again, but he ignored it. His discomfort was still written all over his face. “Let’s knock this out. I’m ready to be done with it.” Bucky didn’t tell Steve that his cat no doubt hated Bucky at the moment for putting her in the penalty box while he ran off.

They finagled Steve’s mattress set into the truck after moving some of Bucky’s boxes out, and then they rearranged it all in a game of real-life Tetris, sliding everything wherever it fit. “God, I hate moving,” Steve grumbled as they finally moved his desk. Bucky noticed that his bedroom was already immaculate, making him wonder if Steve was a neatnik, and if so, if he was anal about it. The bathroom and kitchen both reeked of bleach and Bucky noticed the scent of carpet shampoo. Steve had dark circles under his eyes, so Bucky knew he’d been up late, just like he said, and he felt a little guilty for riding him about his packing priorities. But Bucky was tired and crabby, too, and he wanted to get settled into their new place. And to take a well-deserved, very overdue nap. 

He paused for a second. “Don’t supposed you have a glass unpacked anywhere?”

“Nope.”

“Eaarrrgggghhh…” Bucky reached into his jacket pocket for his pill bottle, unscrewed it impatiently, and tapped out two of the small tablets. “Is your tap water gross?”

“Yeah.”

“Even better,” Bucky said, feigning cheer as he went to the faucet, turned it on a low stream and cupped his hand. He popped the pills into his mouth and scooped up a few gulps of water, grimacing as the faintly tinny liquid washed them down. Yuck. 

“What are those?”

“My pain pills.”

“What kind?” Steve was frowning, and it rankled with Bucky.

“Percocet. The generic. My ortho prescribed them for me.”

“I know they're prescription. You need to take those?”

“Yes, I do, and why do you need to know?” 

“They’re a narcotic. And they’re habit-forming.”

“I’m not an addict. I take them when I hurt, Steve, and I hurt today.”

Bucky felt himself chafing and his skin growing hot as Steve stared him down, with his big, stupid brawny arms folded – Steve was cut, and huge, but Bucky couldn’t appreciate it much right now – and Bucky shrugged. “I had surgery a while back. After an accident.”

Steve’s expression softened a little. “Percocet was the only thing they could give you?”

“It was the only thing that helps the pain. But hey, tell my ortho you know more about this than he does. Or my chiropractor. Or my physical therapist. Because this is your area of expertise?” Bucky felt his voice hardening and growing more defensive, but he couldn’t stop it. “Might wanna talk to my therapist, too. She’d probably love to hear your insight over tea. She likes green tea, but make sure it’s decaf. I see her every Wednesday.”

“Good to know. I see mine on Tuesdays. At least we won’t have a conflict.”

“Sure, we won’t.” Bucky ignored the opening Steve had presented, still smarting and defensive. “Let’s finish this? I really want to just finish this. While the pills are kicking in, okay?” The muscle in Steve’s jaw was working and he slowly relaxed his posture, letting his arms drop to his sides. 

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The rest of the afternoon was tense and terse. Their exchanges were clipped and simple, and Bucky fumed his way in and out of Steve’s house, still wondering to himself why he was leaving. The duplex was two-story, so thankfully Steve had already brought down most of his stuff so they wouldn’t have to make repeated trips up there. 

“Might wanna do a sweep through here to make sure you didn’t miss anything.”

“I know,” Steve replied. He checked his pockets. “Hm. Actually, I think I left my phone up there, charging.”

“Of course,” Bucky said, shaking his head and managing a hint of a smile. “That’s convenient, Rogers.”

“I’m going to take down the curtains,” Steve said, as though he had just noticed that they were still hanging on the front picture window. He gave them a funny look… resigned, and a little sad. He took down the rod and unscrewed the finials, then slowly, carefully slid the curtain panels off. 

“They’re nice. Maybe we can hang ‘em up when we get home,” Bucky suggested, even though they didn’t go with any of his stuff. He wondered if they went with Steve’s. The fabric was surprisingly feminine looking, a soft mint green and pink floral print. “Y’know what? I’ll go get your phone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Take care of those. It’s fine. Okay?”

“Down the hall, last room on the right,” Steve called after him. Bucky jogged up the stairs, and he noticed then he got up there that the wall beneath the rail had holes drilled that were slightly rough, with bits of loose plaster, like someone had removed hardware from the wall. “Hm.” That made Bucky wonder. Maybe Steve was planning to fill them with spackle. He followed Steve’s instructions and went to his room. Sure enough, there was his phone, still plugged into the wall. It was an older iPhone; Steve _definitely_ needed an upgrade, but if Steve was downgrading from a sweet duplex, then a new phone wasn’t a high priority. When Bucky unplugged it, the screen saver flashed up at him, showing him a photo of an older, attractive woman who had Steve’s blue eyes and smile. She wore a Yankees baseball cap, and it looked as though she didn’t have much hair underneath. 

The epiphany, when it hit Bucky, made him reassess the past two weeks, remembering every interaction and conversation he’d had with Steve Rogers, combing through every detail and taking stock of his own words in those exchanges.

Bucky suddenly felt like a monumental _asshole_.

He carefully detached the charger from the port and wound up the cord before going back downstairs. His face was unreadable when he handed Steve back his things. Steve had the curtains tucked into the last box and the rods tucked under his arm. 

“I think that’s it. Everything else is turned off,” Steve told him.

“Uh-huh.”

“I think we’re good to go.”

“’Kay.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah. I’m… good. Hey, I’m about to fall over. I could stand to eat.”

“I was hoping you’d say something.” Steve looked sheepish. “I mighta gotten a case of the hangries, earlier.”

“Are you gonna be really anal about where we stop to eat?” 

“The taco truck down the block from the apartment isn’t beneath me. Their meat’s locally sourced.”

Because of course it was. “Then, you’re buying.”

*

They wolfed down two large burritos on their drive to the apartment. Bucky was impressed that didn’t have any of the same annoying eating habits in a setting like this that he had in the restaurant when they’d had lunch, or that he’d observed of Steve whenever he came into the bakery and actually sat down with his pastry and crossword. Steve switched hands with his fork when he cut his meat. Steve hated it when any of the different foods on his plate touched before he ate them. Steve had a habit of setting his glass back down _in the very same spot from where he picked it up, every time_ ; if Bucky didn’t know better, he would think he was trying to fit it back into the same damp ring of moisture on the table, without ruining the shape. Steve was very, very neat when he ate. 

But not in the moving truck, and not when he was eating a super burrito with extra guac and sour cream, trying to cram it into his mouth before half of it could fall into his lap. That kind of eating, Bucky could applaud.

“Let’s see if that car will move, so we can park close to the door,” Bucky said as they waited for a black sedan to pull out. They circled the block twice and watched its turn lights finally blink off as it pulled out. “FINALLY!” Bucky crowed as he practically made the truck dart into that space.

“Easy there, Dale Junior,” Steve chided. 

“Hey, we’re in, aren’t we?”

“We’ve been saying that a lot lately,” Steve said. “My hands smell like peppers.”

“Here. Somebody left a bunch of paper towels in here from the last time they rented it out.”

“Sweet.” Steve ripped off a crumpled handful of them and hastily scrubbed his hands. “I’m gonna regret that burrito, but it was worth it.”

“Just make sure _I_ don’t regret your burrito.”

“That’s why windows were invented, Barnes.”

“Oh, God…” Bucky scrunched up his nose.

“Might wanna hurry up and get out of the truck…”

“Damn it, Steve!”

*

They hurried to unload the boxes and fragile items, piling them in the dining room and kitchen, keeping the dining room clear for Bucky’s bigger furniture. They set Steve’s art desk in the corner, the one Bucky had been coveting for his TV, but he silently admitted to himself that it looked good there. “Is right here fine with you, for this?”

“Yeah,” Steve grunted as they set it down and pushed it into place. “That’s not bad, actually.”

“Good. Okay.”

They tackled the couches, and it was so tempting to want to sit down on them once they wrangled them inside, but Steve rotated his shoulders and rubbed his neck. Bucky resisted doing the same thing with his arm, knowing damned well it wouldn’t help. He had another couple of hours until his next dose, and he knew he’d overextended himself.

Bucky’s phone rang in his pocket, and he knew it was Becca. “Yo?” he answered, still panting a little from their last trip up the stairs.

“Your cat’s making a ruckus. Come and get Ruckus Cat.”

“Do I have to separate you two?”

“Oh, please do. Get the fuck over here and get my fur niece, please.”

“Don’t hurt her feelings,” Bucky crooned. Steve made a disbelieving face at Bucky’s tone, but Bucky waved him off. “Don’t judge me,” he hissed at Steve. “She’s being mean to my baby.”

“I’m doing no such thing, Bucky! Come and get your cat!”

“We’re just finishing up. Give me another half hour? Pretty please with diamonds on top?”

“You’re gonna regret the favors I’m gonna want after this, baby brother.”

“I love you.”

“That won’t save you. I’m telling Mom and Dad you married a weird stranger from your bakery.”

“Steve’s not that weird,” Bucky argued.

“HEY!” Steve complained from across the room.

“Hey, I said ‘that weird,’ I gave you a little credit,” Bucky said.

“Wow,” Becca muttered on her end. “Is he hot? He sounds kinda hot.”

“No,” Bucky tsked. “God, the stuff you think…”

Bucky’s perception of Steve had been colored by the following, so far, compromising any concept he might have had of Steve being hot:

His judgy attitude about Bucky’s pain pills  
His unpacked stuff that slowed them down at the duplex  
Watching him eat a burrito with little to no grace and crop dusting him before he could get out of the truck  
Steve being just plain anal about _everything_  
Steve being so defensive about Bucky kissing him, when, hello? It was kind of _expected?_

“Is that your sister?” Steve inquired.

“Yeah. My cat sitter.”

“Bet she wants us to go get Iago.”

“Oh, do I!” Becca called back. She wasn’t even on speaker, but Steve had walked up next to Bucky and was hovering over the edge of his phone, smiling down at Becca’s contact photo in the corner of the screen. 

“She looks like you. She’s cute,” Steve murmured.

“My sister is _not_ cute,” Bucky said, envy creeping into his tone.

“Don’t listen to him, brother-in-law,” Becca purred, and Bucky heard her laughter in her tone. 

“He has to. He’s my husband,” Bucky argued.

“Idiot,” Becca told him. “Put Steve on the phone.”

“I will _not_.”

“I’m going to give Iago to your neighbor and not tell you which one.”

Bucky handed Steve the phone. “Make it quick. We’re still not finished moving.”

Steve grinned as he took the phone. “Hey, there, big sister. I never had a sister. This is going to be fun.”

“Awwww,” Bucky heard his sister purr. “You’re a lonely only?”

“Well, I was.”

“Awwwwwww!”

“Gads, the two of you are sickening,” Bucky said in disgust, but he was smiling, because it would help him if Becca accepted Steve. More or less. For now.

He had no clue how he was going to get Steve by his parents. 

*

Steve had passed muster. Bucky had a hard time getting them off the phone because they were yukking it up at his expense. Steve rang off with the promise that they would have Becca over for Cards Against Humanity and hard cider before Bucky snatched the phone from him.

“He’s okay,” Becca told him.

“You say that now.”

“No. He is. I can tell. Okay. I’m not as worried, now.”

“Glad to put your mind to rest.” He didn’t mention that he was a little grateful – more than a little – that his sister was worried for him.

“Come get your cat. I just finished the baseboards and wiped out the oven. We’re good to go.”

“I owe you.”

“Yes. That you do.”

Steve, before he began to unpack any of the boxes, was screwing the curtain rod brackets into the wall. “Peggy said you hang the curtains last, but I think I want them up now, so we aren’t giving the neighbors a show.”

“Sure, Rogers.”

“I’m going to get Iago. Need me to pick anything up?”

“No. I’m just gonna need your help with giving me a ride back to get Mom’s car.”

“It’s hers?”

“Yup. She added me to the insurance policy, but it’s registered in her name. I take her to her appointments.”

Bucky nodded. “About that.”

“About what?”

“I, um. I was thinking. Sharon and Nat park in the lot behind my shop. They have their own spaces. I was thinking, maybe we could see about getting you one, too. Like, with your name on it. Or, y’know, make it another ‘Employee of Hey There Babycakes’ space if having your name on it would be too weird.”

“That’s… a little extreme, but thoughtful,” Steve told him, blushing. “Employee, huh? You gonna put me to work, now that we’re hitched?”

“Geez… listen to you. No. Scratch that. Maybe I will. You can take out the trash and shine my shoes.”

“Jerk.”

“Kidding. I’m kidding, you punk. Geez. Anyway. I figure… it might not hurt. If you come around with your mom… maybe it’s make it easier for you. Save you some time.”

“We’re only living together for a year,” Steve reminded him. “You don’t have to go through the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble. What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t do what you want?”

“Hey, pal! You ain’t the boss of me!”

“Hey, you see me wearing these pants? These are _the_ pants!”

“Idiot,” Steve huffed, but he was grinning. “I’m wearing pants, too.”

Bucky was beginning to like Steve.

*

 

“I can’t believe you let my sister talk us into this.”

“Look, they have the Ninja blender with all the attachments.”

“Steve, no one’s gonna buy us a Ninja blender.”

“I’m scanning us one, anyway.” Steve aimed the gun at the barcode on the shelf and clicked it until it beeped. “This is fun. You can pick the next one.”

“Steve. Seriously? God, you’re like a kid…”

“Well, it _is_ fun. Don’t you ever make a wish list?”

“Well, yeah. On Amazon, of stuff I never get around to buying myself.” Wilton decorating supplies, pans and frosting implements were high on Bucky’s list of wants, as well as novels that he never had the time to read. 

“You should treat yourself once in a while.”

“No one’s going to buy us any of this.”

“A guy can dream, can’t he? Ooh, that’s a nice ironing board. I need a new one, the spring on it’s broken.”

“You’re registering for an ironing board? Like a nineteen-fifties housewife?”

“I like to iron my shirts. Some of us are civilized.”

“Some of us wear an apron all day. And make it look good.”

“That’s… accurate.” Steve’s eyes flicked over Bucky and his lips twitched. Then he went back to scanning just to annoy Bucky. “I need one of those. One of those. And that. And that.” Click. Click. Click. Click. 

Bucky tried to wrestle the gun away from him. “Rogers, we don’t need tasseled pillows.”

“They’ll look nice with your couch.”

“Those are grandma pillows.”

“They are not! They’re shantung!”

“They clash with the curtains,” Bucky countered, but then he clammed up. Steve’s smile faltered.

“Uh.”

“They’re nice. Those won’t go with them.”

“I guess… not.”

 

Not much of Bucky’s furniture did, frankly. Bucky’s aesthetic was a cross between “used to live in an all men’s dorm” and “man cave.” He had fast food plastic tumblers with movie poster images on them and Sam’s old black plates that he bequeathed him. He told Sam that he’d found someone to split rent with; he hadn’t quite divulged the rest of the specifics. Bucky wasn’t looking forward to the blistering lecture that was to follow, namely that Bucky had taken Sam’s joking suggestion that he “whistle up a husband, quick!” And that he’d let Nat be his best man instead of Sam. Sam was going to kill him, then, now that he really thought of it.

“Can we get different plates?” Steve mentioned, as though he was reading Bucky’s thoughts.

“Mine were kinda a gift.”

“Are you super attached to them?”

“What? They’re black. They’re fine. They go with everything.”

“Food looks more appetizing on a white plate,” Steve told him.

“I don’t even notice the color of the plate when I’m eating. I just eat.” Steve had plenty of time to notice the color of the plate when he was separating his foods from each other. Because Steve was Steve.

“Just a thought.”

“We don’t need plates.”

Steve went “YOINK!” and snatched the scanner from Bucky, darted off to the aisle with the dishes, and scanned three different sets before Bucky could catch him.

This was their life, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percocet is prescribed pretty commonly for patients who have had bone or spine surgery. I don't begrudge Bucky for needing it, never fear. And neither does Steve. He's just worried about him already. He won't be playing narc every time Bucky opens the bottle. I promise.


	6. Feathering the Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds get settled in. Hoo, boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the bickering begin!!!! And gratuitous, staged (?) kissing!!!!

“It’s official. You’re lost your damned mind, Barnes.”

“What? No ‘Congratulations, Bucky?’ I’m crushed.”

“This is NOT normal. Normal people don’t do this.”

“Normal’s overrated. I’m ashamed of you, Wilson. You’ve never been this judgy before.”

“I leave you alone for five minutes, and you marry a stranger.”

“Not a _complete_ stranger.”

“ _Bucky._ ”

“Well, he’s not.”

“Isn’t he the one you can’t stand? That’s always talking smack about your scones or some such nonsense?”

“My ingredients,” Bucky clarified. “And he doesn’t talk smack about them.” Bucky waited a beat. “He just grills me to death about them.”

“You know you don’t do constructive criticism,” Sam reminded him. “I give him two weeks before his stuff’s out on the curb…”

“Have a little faith in me, Sam. We’re gonna try to make this work.”

“Look. Bucky, I know I left you in a bind, but-“

“Sam. No. We’re not doing this.”

“Monica and I thought this was the right time t-“

“I know that. Okay? Sam, I know that. It’s all right.”

Sam's sigh was heavy and aggrieved. "Isn't this a little extreme?"

“We’re managing fine.”

“And you said your landlord _bought it_?”

“Far as we can tell.”

“She’s that clueless?!?!”

“No! She’s a sweetheart.” Shrewd and a little scary, Bucky didn’t add. Peggy looked like a sweet grandma who crocheted afghans and brunched on Sundays, but the look in her eye made him shiver, and he wondered if she have ever stabbed anyone in the eye with a high-heeled shoe or garroted a man with a string of pearls. “You’ll love her when you meet her. Whenever you’re stateside again.”

“I can’t believe you got hitched without me. I would have stood up with you, man.”

“Nat filled in. And she plans to give you shit when you get back.”

"Looking forward to it, Barnes." Sam chuckled. "Wow. You’s a married man, now.”

“God. Shut up.”

“Got you a ball and chain…”

“SAM.”

“Just playin’. Y’know what? I’m actually _happy_ for you, Bucky.”

“What? Why?” Bucky was incredulous.

“As weird as this might sound, Steve might be good for you.”

“Uh…”

“Hear me out. You’re not good with being alone. You just kind of… climb inside yourself. And you don’t take care of _you_. I wasn’t going to say no to the chance to be with my lady full time, Barnes, but it was hard to move out.” Bucky felt an embarrassed but warm flush of appreciation for Sam at that moment. He rubbed his neck.

“Yeah, well.”

“I mean it. Okay? You’re good people. It wasn’t easy letting go of you as a roommate.”

“We’re still friends.”

“Hell, yes. Even if you stiffed me on being your best man. I might be able to overlook that.”

“Good. You can come to the housewarming party.”

“The house _what_ , now?”

“You heard me. We’re registered at Target.” Bucky waited for his reaction, and after a dead pause, Sam didn’t leave him hanging.

“WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!” Bucky heard Sam slapping his knees in the background. He laughed and laughed and _laughed_ , and Bucky pictured him wiping away tears.

“Steve had his heart set on an ironing board.”

Sam had caught his breath for a moment, right before he cackled again.

*

They were managing. Sort of.

Steve was a night owl on days where he didn’t have to meet his mom. Bucky still hadn’t met his mom, and for some reason, the very thought of it made him jittery. But the good thing about Steve was that he was _quiet_ when he was up. Bucky often found him out on the couch, laptop on his lap, drawing stylus in hand, just sketching and editing away on one of his commissions or client projects. He would plug in his headphones or watch TV at low volume; once in a while, Bucky heard him chuckling over episodes of Conan. Still, once in a while, Bucky would get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water or to use the hall bathroom, and Steve would startle the _crap_ out of him. Sometimes he was _too_ quiet, and Bucky was half-blind in the dark.

Like the first time Bucky learned he needed to sleep in his boxers…

He’d had a long day of work that turned into a long night when he worked on a three-tier cake with fondant and spun sugar art that took him four hours to complete. Nat and Sharon offered to stay and help, but he shooed them off. Bucky toiled away, old eighties rock playing on low volume in the background while he grumbled promises to himself that he was taking a vacation, darn it, if he survived long enough to book one. That promise remained shallow and unfulfilled; Bucky Barnes was a _workaholic_ who had a hard time locking up every evening once the last customer walked out the door with their bag of snickerdoodles or a fragrant baguette.

He had told Steve good night, watching Steve wash the dishes (more accurately, loading the dishwasher, since Steve had a thing about wanting to “sanitize” the dishes with steam; Bucky hand-washed, because he didn’t want to wait for the rinse cycle to end just for one clean glass. So, that was a bone of contention…

Steve was also a health nut. That didn’t lend itself to him being a good cook. The apartment still smelled like burnt brown rice by the time Bucky took his shower. Bucky did his bookkeeping at the kitchen table by the light of the range top until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Steve finished loading the washer – Bucky had to rescue his best frying pan from him, since it was T-Fal and _expensive_ , c’mon, Steven – and he folded his arms.

“You should be doing that with more light,” he said.

“I’m winding down. I like a dark room.”

“Your eyes don’t.”

“Ohhhh, yes, they do,” Bucky told him stubbornly as he rubbed them. “Right. I’m turning in.” He said pointedly, “Please don’t turn a whole bunch of lights on. They keep me up.”

“I don’t.”

“No. You do.” 

Steve opened his mouth to argue, then closed it and threw up his hands. “Fine. Okay. I’ll do better.” His expression was that of a man whose mouth butter wouldn’t melt in, but his voice was insincere and salty as all-get-out. 

(Bucky liked him for it. He wouldn’t tell him, though.)

“C’mon, man. Cut me some slack? I’m an early bird by profession? That means I can’t pull all-nighters like I used to.”

“I get it, Buck.”

“Even a crack of light through the bedroom door keeps me up.” Bucky didn’t add on that his shoulder being sore was just as bad, and the stress, and the memories of how he got here. And the worries that he might fail in his attempts at being his own man. Failure wasn’t an option, and for a moment, Steve seemed to look inside him, robin’s egg blue eyes searching Bucky’s, and his arms dropped. He shoved his hands into his pockets instead. 

“I get it. I just… I do, all right?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Bucky closed his folio of receipts and ledger, turned off his adding machine and set them on the edge of the table. “Right. I’m goin’ to bed. Keep it down, Wild Man.”

“I’ll tell the strippers not to show,” Steve quipped. “I’ll cancel the DJ, too, but all the jello shots are just gonna go to waste.”

“Jello shots.” Bucky made a face and shook his head. “Wouldn’t have figured you for jello shots.”

“I had a misspent youth.”

“Can’t wait to tattle on you to our grandkids,” Bucky joked.

Steve’s brows drew together, and that dragged a real laugh out of him. 

“Jerk,” Bucky muttered. 

“Sorry, it’s… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. G’night.”

“Night, Buck.”

And Bucky wandered off to bed, turned off his light, stripped, and climbed under the covers, throwing the hem of the comforter over his head. It took him a while, and even though his closed door, he heard the clicks of Steve’s mouse and keyboard, but it wasn’t the worst struggle he’d had to sleep. Bucky drifted off, shoving aside the stress of how to deliver his cake to his client in the morning. He must have been snoring, because when he woke up, his throat was parched and stung a little when he swallowed. Bucky yawned and stretched, scratching his belly as he got up. He didn’t notice the sounds of Steve’s laptop; guy probably went to bed, Bucky reasoned. He got up and headed for the door, hissing as he bumped his hip against the dresser. He staggered out into the corridor, and he noticed Steve’s bedroom door was slightly ajar and dark, but he didn’t stop to peer inside. No sense in creeping Steve out.

He made it to the kitchen and made it to the dishwasher, fishing out a clean, still dripping glass. The smell of Cascade crystals tickled his nose; he heard his toes clicking as he padded over the cold linoleum for the fridge. Bucky found the water jug and poured himself a glass. He downed half of it, then poured himself some more to top it off. 

“Buck?”

Steve’s voice was low, but it came out of _nowhere_ , the kitchen was pitch-black, and the glare from the refrigerator appliance bulb effectively blinded Bucky. It also illuminated his very bare body in all of its glory…

“SHIT!” Bucky jumped, and he dropped the glass, dancing back before it could land on his foot, but-

CRASSSSSHHHHHH!

The string of expletives Bucky let out was impressive. _Stunning_.

Fragments of glass strafed his ankles and feet and the chilled water splashed his vulnerable skin, making him wince and dance. “GAH!”

“Geez…”

“STEVE!”

“Bucky…”

“Don’t… DO THAT!”

“Buck… oh, God, you’re naked.”

Steve was facepalming and spun his back to Bucky, and Bucky hid himself behind the refrigerator door. His feet decided at that moment to remind him that there was _broken glass_ on the floor, and he promptly stepped on a chunk. Bucky hissed, jerking his foot up. “Damn it, Steve!”

“Bucky. Geez… it’s not my fault-“

“You startled me.”

“I thought you saw me. I was here in the doorway,” Steve explained. 

“You snuck up on me!”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Well, you scared the crap out of me!”

“I’m sorry!”

Bucky knew he wouldn’t just drop back off to sleep after this point. “If you have a decent bone in your body right now, Rogers, you’ll turn the other way.”

“O…kay.” 

Steve obeyed, and Bucky limped past him, favoring his now-bad foot. He hoped to God he didn’t bleed on Peggy’s nice carpet. He tried not to get too close to Steve, who he noticed was in flannel sleep shorts (since he made _no_ hasty assumptions about Bucky’s waking status) and a soft-looking white undershirt that hid almost _nothing_. Steve Rogers was stacked with muscle, and Bucky saw the contours of his body through the thin knit, including two tiny nipples that, at the moment, weren’t bashful. 

Not like Steve. Poor guy looked embarrassed, if his posture was anything to go by. He had his palm clapped firmly over his eyes, and his breath caught as Bucky passed him. He even _flinched_ , and that just made it an even bigger mess.

This wasn’t happening, Bucky decided. They _weren’t_ talking about this in the morning.

“Squeeze those eyes shut as tight as you can, pal,” Bucky warned. “I’m comin’ through. I just cut the crap out of my foot.”

“Geez… Bucky, be careful! Here, let me turn on a light!”

That was all Bucky didn’t need to hear.

“Steve – DON’T!”

_Click_.

Light flooded the kitchen, and Bucky’s hands flew down to shield his crotch; he was mid-mince past the refrigerator, with the intent to sneak by Steve – limp by him, more accurately – to get out of the kitchen and down the hall to the medicine cabinet. “Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!”

“But you’re gonna step on more glass!’

“Steve, for the love of God!” Steve had glanced back to argue with him, realized that wasn’t the most sensible idea at the moment, then jerked his eyes away again, ducking his face like a child in time-out.

“Sorry. Geez, Bucky…”

“Just… let me get clear. Keep ‘em shut. All the way. Nothing to see here.” And Bucky hobbled his way past, snatching up a dishtowel on his way toward the kitchen door and attempting to drape it around his waist. He cursed when he discovered it gave him no more protection than a fast food dispenser napkin. His butt was chilled from the drafty room, reminding him that he was still bare. He dimly remembered the light-colored carpeting and Peggy’s injunction to keep it spotless; Bucky doubted that they had any peroxide if he accidentally bled on it, and he switched from hobbling to hopping. He made his way to his room and jerked open his drawer, cursing to himself that he should have done that in the first place, and he found a pair of boxers. He sat on the bed and tugged them on, still blushing and tingling with embarrassment. His foot burned where he cut it.

He heard a polite knock at his door. “Bucky? You okay?”

“I smithereened the bottom of my foot. Shit, that smarts…”

“Bucky. Wow. I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you like that.” Steve was talking to him through his bedroom door, and Bucky sighed gustily. Then, “Do, uh. Do you always. Make trips to the kitchen-“

“I didn’t know you were up. But in case you were wondering, I sleep in the altogether.”

“Ah.”

“I may have to reconsider my habits, I’m thinking.”

“And maybe I need to make more noise when I’m entering a dark room.”

Bucky snorted. He got up and limped to the door, and when he opened it, Steve wore a sheepish smile. Which shifted to an amused one when he got a gander at Bucky’s shorts.

“Is that Oscar the Grouch?”

“He’s the least annoying Sesame Street Muppet. I’ll fight you on this.”

Steve mimed putting up his dukes. “Then clearly you haven’t refined enough taste to know the honor of least annoying Sesame Street Muppet goes to Bert.”

“Oh, the hell it does, pal.” Bucky folded his arms. Steve’s eyes took in the gesture with a mixture of amusement and… interest. Bucky reminded himself that it might not hurt to put on a shirt, either. Steve glanced down at Bucky’s shoulder, and that solidified his decision to do just that. Bucky hadn’t forgotten his scars. But Steve maintained his smile. Bucky retrieved a gray undershirt from the drawer and struggled into that.

“Want any more water? I know I interrupted you from getting it, earlier.”

“Nope. Just gonna fix my foot. Gangway, buddy.” Bucky eased past him into the corridor, still rolling down the hem of the shirt over his abdomen, knowing his gait looked ridiculous.

“Do you have what you need?”

“Band-aids. Alcohol. Should be fine.”

“Oh, no. Uh-uh. Just park it in there for a sec. Sit on the tub, okay? Or on the toilet. Hold on while I get something out of my room.” Steve padded off in a rush, and Bucky sighed. Now what?

Steve met him in the bathroom. Bucky sat down on the cool enamel of the tub, foot tucked up on his lap as he probed at the sliver of glass caught in his heel, and tinier bits embedded in his callused skin. His skin was streaked with darkening blood, and the tiny cuts burned something fierce. Steve stared down at him in sympathy. He brandished a small, black leather bag with a zipper. “I’ve got the good first aid kit. All the essentials.” He unzipped the case on the edge of the sink and pulled out a small bag of cotton balls, a bottle of betadine, and a grooming kit that included a pair of tweezers, the kind with the pointed tip.

"Have ya got a whole pharmacy packed in there?"

“Just the important stuff, goofy butt.”

“Hey!”

“Do you always stroll the apartment commando?”

“Yeah. I live for it. I’m a risk taker, pal, and don’t you forget it.”

They exchanged bland expressions. Steve cocked one sandy brow and huffed, but he was fighting a smile. He went back to opening the betadine. Steve reached into the linen cabinet and pulled out a clean, folded towel. It only smelled like the inside of the cabinet; Steve insisted on fragrance-free detergents and dryer sheets because he claimed the scented ones gave him a migraine. Bucky loved the scent of Tide on his own shirts, and he avoided mingling their laundry in the dryer. _Tough luck, pal._ Part of him caved, though, in regard to the dryer sheets; he began buying the unscented ones himself when Steve’s box ran out, and he bought a wool dryer ball following a suggestion on Pinterest. What the heck. It couldn’t hurt.

Steve set the towel on the floor and knelt beside Bucky.

“What’re you doing?”

“Give me your foot.”

“What? Why? I’m not gonna give you my foot.”

“It needs cleaning, and you need to get the glass out of it. Look, there’s a sliver of it, right there. You cut your foot to pieces, Buck.” Steve’s expression was long-suffering. “It’ll get infected.”

“I can do it myself!”

“Bucky, it’s the bottom of your foot. I’ll have a steadier hand than you will, because I won’t have to hunch over it as much. I can get a better look at it.”

“I’m not… gonna let you play with my foot.”

Steve’s lips twitched. “You were gonna say ‘play footsie,’ weren’t you?”

“No.” (Yes.)

“Buck. Let me see it? I’ll get it out. I swear.”

“No. It’s too weird. I have a thing about people touching my feet.”

It was too intimate. And ticklish. And… it signified certain things. Things that Bucky wasn’t likely to share with Steve, yet. If _ever_.

“No one’s ever fixed your boo-boos before, Barnes?” 

“Geez… seriously?” Bucky made a face and flipped him off, which made Steve snort outright. “I can fix my own boo-boos.”

“I just wanna help. I have steady hands. Your foot’s bleeding pretty bad there, pal.”

Bucky sighed in exasperation, brows drawn together. “Steve. It’s _my_ foot.”

“I know. I ain’t gonna steal it, Buck. Just wanna get the chunk of glass out, clean it up and get it nice and wrapped so you can go back to bed.” 

“That shit better not sting,” Bucky warned him, nodding to the bottle.

“Nope. It won’t. It’s not rubbing alcohol. It’ll feel just like water. Promise. Might dye your skin a little yellow, but it’ll fade by tomorrow.” 

Steve’s expression was a little pleading, and apologetic, and Bucky realized that maybe he felt badly for catching Bucky by surprise. And maybe _Bucky_ felt a little guilty, too, for carrying on like that, ass out and all. Right. Okay. Okay, then.

“Just don’t work the glass any further in than it is,” Bucky muttered. 

“I won’t. It’ll just take a minute, babe, I swear.” Steve assured him, and Bucky’s brows rose as Steve turned his back to unfolded a pad of gauze. _Babe?_

“Uh. We’re using pet names, now?”

“Huh?”

“Babe?”

“Huh?”

“You called me ‘babe.’”

“No, I didn’t!” Steve’s expression was amused and incredulous.

“Dude, you totally did!”

“Did you just call me ‘dude?’ How old are you, twelve?”

Bucky wanted to kick him, but his foot still stung. Steve knelt, laid the towel over his own lap, and then backed up against the tub. Bucky’s shin grazed his warm skin as he took his foot gingerly and set it on his lap, too. The towel felt nubby and soft under his heel. “Ouch,” Steve murmured, “that’s gotta hurt.”

“Didn’t exactly tickle.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve got the tweezers and tilted Bucky’s foot, gently cradling Bucky’s ankle in his hand. His thumb pressed lightly into his sole, and Bucky failed in his attempt not to jerk. “Hold still, Buck!”

“I’m trying. It’s not your foot. Feels weird…”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I need more light, flex your foot a little. There. Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Bucky looked away from the tweezers, knowing it would be worse if he watched Steve too closely. He always looked away whenever he was getting labs done or getting an IV, too, because the needle hurt worse when he had to watch it go in.

But Steve, true to his word, managed to nick the bit of glass loose on the third try. Bucky hissed as he pulled it loose. “There. It’s out. Phew… man, that thing’s wicked, Bucky. No wonder you practically danced your way out of the kitchen.”

“Punk,” Bucky groused. “Glad you were entertained.

“You didn’t tell me I was marrying an exhibitionist. If you keep giving me live nudie shows, Barnes, we might have to rethink that whole ‘splitting up after a year’ plan.”

“Nobody’s giving anybody a show, here!” And Bucky didn’t know what he resented most, in that moment. A) Being called an exhibitionist, B) that Rogers thought Bucky was the type to “give him a show,” or C) calling it “splitting up” when their lease was going to term in that amount of time, acting like breaking up their fake marriage was his prime focus. 

Because… it wasn’t. Really.

Things weren’t ideal. But… they weren’t going badly. Not yet. The benefits outweighed the quirks of living with Steven Grant Rogers, for the moment. Bucky grudgingly added “He has gentle hands” to the list of pros, even though it wasn’t anything he’d originally doubted. Or contemplated.

But, they were. Gentle. And warm. 

“Man, that cut burns.”

“Aw.” And before Bucky could comment further, Steve tilted his face down and blew a soft, cool little puff of air over his reddened, angry skin. Bucky shivered at the sensation that sent little tingles through his stomach, all the way into his groin. He wanted to lecture Steve, because didn’t that spread germs? It didn’t end up being a problem. Steve swabbed betadine over Bucky’s cuts and applied a thick pad of gauze to Bucky’s sole, then wrapped his foot with a long strip of sterile bandage, tying off the end. 

“You’re good at that. You a Boy Scout once upon a time?”

“Nope. Nurse’s kid. Ma was an RN. I spent a lot of time on the edge of the tub, too.” 

“Why? Clumsy?”

“Clumsy. Unlucky. Mouthy. You name it. I got beat up a lot.”

“Pffft… yeah, right. You’re built like a tank! Who managed to get the drop on you?”

“Anyone else who wasn’t built like a twelve-year-old girl until tenth grade. I was a pipsqueak. Weighed about a buck-thirty and was about up to your chin for as long as I could remember.” Steve was still holding Bucky’s foot, checking the bandage to make sure it wasn’t too tight. His touch was light, and it felt good when he kneaded the ball of his foot, releasing pressure Bucky didn’t realize he was holding onto until that point. His feet always ached after spending the whole day on them in the bakery.

“I can’t believe that.”

“Ohhhhh, yeah. Kept having to replace my glasses. Ma wouldn’t let me get contacts until I was old enough to buy them myself, and by then, I’d hit my growth spurt.” Steve absently tugged on Bucky’s toes. Bucky didn’t stop him.

“Contacts are overrated. Becca wears them, but when she gets tired of them, she goes back to her glasses, anyway.”

“Yeah. Found that out the hard way, too. I don’t blame her. Have you ever had to wear glasses?”

“Not yet. Headed there eventually, I guess. My parents both wear ‘em.”

“Ma does, too.”

“I noticed that in your picture. That was her, right? In the photo you have in your room?”

Steve looked fond, and he carefully lowered Bucky’s foot to the floor before he struggled up to his feet, legs stiff from being bent so long. “Yeah, that’s Ma.”

“Tell her I said you went into the wrong field. You’re a decent artist, Rogers, but you could be making your bread and butter as a nurse.”

“You’re the one making all the bread around here, Barnes.”

“Har-de-har-har.” The pun was horrible. 

Bucky loved it.

“All better,” Steve remarked as Bucky wiggled his toes and stood up carefully.

“That’s not horrible.”

“Want me to kiss it?” Steve teased.

“Pffft… nobody’s watchin’, Rogers. Go to sleep.”

*

 

Right. Nobody was watching last night.

This morning was a different story _altogether_.

“Charles wants his usual, James,” Natasha told him. 

“So, maybe you should give it to him?”

“I have to take out these loaves.” And sure enough, the timers buzzed on the ovens, and Nat went and donned the large, heat-proof mitts.

“Sheesh. Poor guy can’t get a muffin around here. I get to be Charles’ favorite, from now on,” he threw over his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen and waved to his favorite patron over the counter. Charles waved and grinned back. “Earl Grey and the blueberry muffin?”

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” Charles confirmed. “Oh, wait! You’re all my favorite!”

“No take-backs, Charles,” Bucky told him as he took a muffin from the large tray and set it on the serving plate, along with a pat of butter. He set that on the counter as he prepared Charles’ tea, filling the to-go cup with steaming water from the dispenser and dropping in the tea bag. “You know you love me best. Say it loud enough for these two to hear, so they understand how things work around here.”

“I fear them more than you,” Charles teased. “Er… I mean, Iove you all equally,” Charles said as Sharon gave him a dubious look when she walked by, balancing a tray for the next table over.

“Right,” she agreed. “Which means _I’m_ his favorite.”

“Oh, I think not!” Bucky made the gesture of “I’ve got my eye on you” at Sharon with a mock-fierce glare, which only made her roll her eyes.

“I’m telling my girlfriend on you,” Sharon sang. Bucky brought Charles his order and set it down with a flourish.

“You’re looking well, Bucky.”

“Yeah?”

“Indeed. There’s a twinkle in your eye that I haven’t seen for a while.”

“Twinkle? I’m not… twinkling.” Bucky fought a laugh. “Really?”

“Yes. You just seem more upbeat. Like you got out of the right side of the bed.”

“Hm. Okay.”

“Being married does that to a man,” Sharon told Charles as she took the empty tray. “Bucky just tied the knot.”

Charles opened his mouth in pleased surprise, but before he could congratulate him, Natasha showed up in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed in annoyance.

“I wanted to tell him that!”

“Well, I beat you to it!”

“Well, you’re a big show-off and a doody-head!”

“Am not!” Sharon hissed, tray under her arm and hand on her hip, lips tight. But she winked at Charles, who winked back.

“Can we not do this in front of the customers?” Bucky sang as he handed Charles some sugar packets for his tea.

“No, don’t stop on my account. I love a show with my breakfast.” 

“So which side of the bed are you getting out of now, Bucky? Yours, or Steve’s?” Sharon gave Bucky a wicked smile and elbowed him as she walked past him to the kitchen.

“None of your business,” he called out.

Bucky went back to filling his trays in the display case with more iced cookies and brownies as his shop filled with morning foot traffic, and so far, it was a decent day. His foot chafed a little inside his sock and shoe from the bandage, but he would manage. Steve was still slowly waking up as Bucky was leaving that morning, yawning over his coffee and a revolting looking bowl of muesli and almond milk. 

“Wouldn’t have to watch me eat this if someone made me breakfast,” Steve pointed out before shoveling an enormous, dripping bite of it into his mouth.

“Uh. No. And it’s still gross. Have at it.” Bucky shoved half of a strawberry Toaster Streudel into his mouth, licking a bit of icing from his thumb before he grabbed his car keys and shoved them into his pocket. Steve’s eyes flitted over him, tracking the way his tongue lapped up the drop of sweet. Steve gave his attention back to his cereal. 

“So. Buck.”

That was Steve’s “I’m about to make a big, dumb suggestion that you don’t have time for” voice, and Bucky sighed at hearing it.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

“Stevie? I thought we weren’t doing pet names.”

“It’s not. It’s just ‘Stevie.’ Which is basically ‘Steve.’ And I feel like calling you Stevie.”

“Ooooookaaaayyy. So. Anyway. I was thinking of having Ma come over for dinner tonight. And, um.” He paused and took a hope-to-heaven breath before the rest of his words tumbled out in a rush. “AndIthinkyoushouldinviteyourparentsandsistertoo.”

“What the _what_ , now?!”

“I think it’s time our families met. I mean, I know this was just supposed to be convenient, but, I guess. I don’t know.” Steve sighed, and Bucky knew he was probably giving Steve a look that was less than charitable. Part of it was that he was in a hurry to go to work, but Steve was rambling a little, and looking really unsure. 

What he was suggesting sounded… iffy.

Yet not unreasonable, which Bucky didn’t want to admit. Yet.

“You want to meet my parents?”

“Well, shouldn’t I? Becca has to have spilled the beans by now, right?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her to have by now.”

“See?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah. I don’t know. I don’t know how to do this. Wasn’t sure we’d…” He let his words trail off, because “I wasn’t sure we’d get this far” would make him sound like the king of the assholes. Bucky knew his wacky plan stood very little chance of success, even if he found someone crazy enough to pose as – no, to be – his husband, but here he and Steve were, living in a gorgeous apartment in a decent neighborhood. His car hadn’t been broken into yet and he felt safe walking to the corner store after dark.

Steve toyed with his muesli, shuffling it around with his spoon. “So. Whaddya think?”

“It’s… not the worst idea. I picked up some ricotta and tomatoes yesterday. I was just gonna make this pizza I like, but I could do something fancier with it, if you want.”

Steve brightened. “Like stuffed shells?”

“You like stuffed shells?”

“Kind of. But Ma loves ‘em. There isn’t much that she eats, nowadays, but that was always one of her favorite meals. And this is her off-week.”

“Off-week?”

“It’s the week between treatments. For her chemo. She has a better appetite on the weeks in-between.”

And, there it was. 

“You never told me your mom had cancer, Steve. I’m sorry.”

“It was bound to come up. Um.” Steve ducked his face and rubbed his eyes; Bucky marked it up to him still being tired. It was early, yet. It was. “She’s. She’s got multiple myeloma. Ma moved into an assisted living apartment complex. They handle her housekeeping and shopping and take her to some of her appointments, but I go with her on her treatment days. I couldn’t live with her, and we sold the house so she could afford the rent and meals. It’s nice.”

“I bet it is.”

“They take good care of her. We get together for dinner pretty often, but she still hasn’t been by here.” Steve draped his arm over the back of his dining chair and craned himself around to face Bucky fully. He looked nervous. “So, whaddya think? Is it okay?”

“Well, yeah, Rogers. It’s your mom. ‘Course it’s okay. I’m gonna call my folks. And Becca. She’s been nagging me to come over forever. She has this goofy idea in her head that she _likes_ you. You’ve hoodwinked her into thinking you’re a nice guy.”

“Drat! You’ve discovered my evil plan.”

Bucky tapped his temple and nodded, then made shooty fingers at Steve.

“So. Stuffed shells. Does your mom have a favorite dessert?”

Steve smirked. “Anything with apple in it will be fine.”

“I just so happen to know a guy who makes a mean apple gallette. I might have to hit him up.”

“You’re so well-connected.”

“Don’t let word get out, pal.”

 

*

Steve still stopped by the bakery in the mornings. Bucky wanted to tease him in the worst way and ask him, “Don’t you see enough of this face already at home, pal?” Bucky was his _husband_. He was allowed to give Steve a little shit. And this morning was no different. Bucky watched him walk in, and he smirked at him over a tray of muffins.

“Bran muffin’s the special of the day, sweetheart.”

“No, thanks. I’m regular. But thank you.”

Nat bit her lip from behind the counter. Sharon outright grinned while she wiped down a glass with a towel.

“Punk,” Bucky muttered. Steve looked nice, decked out in a soft, gray argyle sweater and khakis that brought out his fair coloring. “Aren’t you supposed to be out earning a living?”

“Gotta meet Ma for her appointment. No cranberry muffins again, huh?”

“Nope.” Except now, Bucky felt a little guilty and a little less resentful of Rogers and his damned picky preferences. “Anything else she might like?”

“That applesauce cake actually doesn’t sound bad, if you have any?”

“’Doesn’t sound bad,’” Bucky mimicked. “How dare you slander my cake. I’ll have you know it’s impeccable.”

“Impeccable,” Nat and Sharon chorused from behind him. Charles smiled at them over the edge of his tea and the crossword.

“Yeah, yeah… Fine. Hack me off a chunk of the applesauce cake.”

“No bran muffin?” Bucky inquired as he sliced the cake, just to get his goat.

“Nah. For all I know, you could’ve put wood shavings in there, and you’re calling it ‘roughage.’”

“Oh, my God. Get out. Get out of my bakery. I’m banishing you. Go open your filthy mouth at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Bucky’s blue eyes were cool, hard chips, but Steve just smirked at him.

“Oooooooh, shit just got real,” Nat hissed.

“He invoked the den of evil,” Sharon agreed. Bucky mock-glared at Steve as he packed up his cake in a clear plastic to-go box, but before he could cast anymore epithets in Steve’s direction, he heard a familiar, coarse voice at the door.

“Jamie! HEY!” 

Brock. Brock Rumlow, walking in through the door of Bucky’s shop like he owned it, and like he hadn’t broken up with him by voice mail six months ago. Swarthy, lean and unshaven, expression smug. Dark eyes roving over Bucky with surprising hunger and nothing resembling discretion. He approached the counter and leaned over it. “What’s the special today, sweetheart?”

“Read the sign,” Nat suggested blandly.

“Bran. The special is bran,” Sharon snapped. Her smile was tight. “Do you want that to go?”

“Nah. ‘Course not, baby. I want _this_ guy to go.” He nodded at Bucky. “Come outside with me for a sec.” He didn’t notice the tall, burly blond arching a brow over the rims of his reading glasses and scratching his head over what was happening.

“I’m working, Brock.”

“So, go on break.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why not? You’re the boss.”

“That’s why I’ve gotta stay in the shop.”

“Everybody’s already been taken care of,” Brock huffed, glancing around. “See? That gives you some time. Come outside.” He gave Nat and Sharon a disdainful smile, then leaned over the counter. “Now, Barnes.”

“My husband’s not on break yet,” Steve mentioned casually. His smile was benign when Brock turned to face him, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. But Bucky saw a dangerous gleam in his eye, the way his knuckles clenched at his side for a moment.

“Excuse me? Your… husband? What does your husband have to do with Jamie coming…out…?” Steve all but shoved past Brock, rounded the counter (to the shock of the surrounding patrons, because no one ever just went behind the counter, Bucky had STANDARDS), slid his hands around Bucky’s waist and kissed him _like he meant it._ Steve captured Bucky’s low “mmmrrmmpphh-mmmmm” and urged him with a faint nip of his bottom lip to go with it.

And Bucky… went with it.

With full cooperation.

Hands that were stunned limp at his sides found new life, skimming up Steve’s back and drawing him close. Steve tightened his arms around Bucky and backed him against the edge of the counter, and Bucky held onto him to regain his balance, and Steve’s hot palm cradled his cheek.

Holy. Cow.

He was dazed, staring up at Steve when he came up for air. “This is my husband,” Steve mentioned to everyone in general, but particularly to the annoyed man on the other side of the counter who had been stunned into silence.

“Uh.” That was Bucky.

“And he was going to start making a galette for dessert tonight with our parents. Weren’t you, baby?”

“Apple,” Bucky murmured, staring down at Steve’s lips, which were still close. A deep, rich pink. Tempting. He flicked his eyes up to stare into Steve’s and found amusement there. He wasn’t used to that calculating, smug expression. 

It excited him.

“Your parents. So. You two. You’re married.”

“Just tied the knot,” Steve told him proudly, but he was still looking at Bucky, not Brock. “Can’t drink the milk without buying the cow. Not if you mean it. And I wasn’t letting this guy get away. I’m not stupid.” Bucky’s breath caught. God, the way he was looking at him, eyes dilated, swallowing Bucky up, such a deep, rich blue. “I know a good opportunity when one walks out in front of me.”

Oh. It was so, so tempting to want to believe Steve, in that moment. But Bucky came back to his senses and remembered himself. Remembered who Steve really was to him, and their purpose. Husbands, of a sort, playing house.

“Lucky me,” Bucky agreed.

“So. Brock.” Nat leveled him with a bland look. “Bran muffin special?”

“Shove it up your ass,” Brock sneered as he stalked out. Steve and Bucky straightened up and separated, and Bucky went back to packing Steve’s cake to go. 

“That’s… that’s not how bran works, Rumlow!” Sharon called after him, absolutely unapologetic. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

“Still,” Nat told her, “that guy could use some bran. He really could.”


	7. It Gets More Confusing Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys ‘fess up to their parents and end up with a ruckus on their hands. Sarah Rogers and Winifred Barnes are NOT amused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance. The boys are getting flustered and are figuring things out. They might stumble a little and say some things they don't quite mean.

“Did you take out the bathroom garbage?”

“Not yet. Hold your horses. I’m right in the middle of something.”

“Buck. You clipped your toenails into the bathroom trash. For the love of God, _please_ throw out that trash.”

“They’re just _toenails_.” Bucky looked up in irritation from the galette that he pulled out of his bakery’s pink box. “Honestly?”

“You have feet like Sasquatch. And they’re toenails. They look gross in the trash.”

“I know you aren’t going Type A on me right now. And quit talking smack about my feet.” Bucky still hadn’t even taken his work shoes off, but now he was self-conscious about his feet. Way to go, Steve.

“The trash needs to go down, anyway.”

“Then, take it down.”

“I’m cleaning the bathroom.”

Bucky clapped his hand over his face, scrubbing it down its length. “Really?” he murmured into the air. 

Okay. His husband was wigging out.

And Steve was stress cleaning and barking out “suggestions” like a drill sergeant. But, Bucky shouldn’t have been surprised. If he was honest, he was experiencing a case of flop sweat, too, and his stomach knotted up as soon as he clocked out of work.

Mom and Dad were heading over, with Becca in tow, and the shit was about to hit the fan. 

Bucky hovered between self-preservation and guilt about not divulging the truth about his “roommate” situation to his parents. He knew his mom would freak out. He knew she would be annoyed that he did something so impulsive, for a reason that seemed ridiculous in hindsight, even to Bucky himself. But… God, it was hard. More than anything, Bucky wanted to make his parents proud, especially since his mother supported his dreams when he opened the bakery, and it was turning a profit. She wouldn’t understand this. George would wonder what the hell he was thinking, just jumping into something as outrageous as a quickie marriage, when he’d told them _nothing_ about Steve. Not even in casual conversation, like

“Great day at work today, Pop. Except for this guy who keeps grilling me about whether I use locally sourced honey. It’s like he expects me to put on a beekeeper suit and tend the hive myself! He sure is picky! And, by the way, he’s your son-in-law.”

Bucky made an aggrieved noise. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“What’s wrong?” Steve wandered out to the dining room, still holding the bottle of Windex and a crumpled, damp paper towel in his fist. “What are you muttering out here?”

“I’m thinking out loud.”

“Less thinking. More garbage taking.”

“Steve. Can I finish what I’m doing in here?”

“What are you doing?”

“I have to finish the salad and garlic bread and get the dishes out of the sink.”

“Well, go ahead and do it!” Steve’s voice was testy, but Bucky was a glint in his eye that told him Steve was giving him shit. He grabbed a dishtowel, wound it up, and rattail-flicked him in the peck with a loud snap. Steve yelped and darted back out of the way, and he smirked at Bucky.

“Okay. Don’t worry about it. Bundle it up, I’ll take it down. Sorry.” Steve held up his hands, bottle and all, in surrender.

“Here, ya punk.” Bucky grabbed the two kitchen garbage cans out from under the sink and took out the overflowing bags while Steve rooted in the cabinet for the big garbage bags, snapping one open for Bucky to drop the smaller ones inside. 

“I’ll get the bathroom can. With your nasty toenails.”

“Hope you survive that quest.”

Steve headed out with the trash to the dumpster while Bucky cleaned the cans themselves with Clorox wipes to knock out the smell of old garbage before putting down new bags. The apartment looked nice, and the kitchen smelled like pasta; maybe they weren’t Ward and June Cleaver, but Steve and Bucky could throw a dinner. 

He heard his phone buzz with a text from Becca. _Hey. We’re outside parking the car. Your mother is wigging out. Be warned._ That didn’t do anything to unknot his gut. Thanks, Bec. Bucky washed his hands and combined the chopped vegetables in the large bowl of spring greens, giving the whole thing a drizzle of balsamic vinaigrette. He hoped Steve hurried back to help him pick up the slack, but then, his phone buzzed again.

It was Steve. “Hey!” Bucky told him. “What’s up?”

“I’m in the car. I’m gonna go pick up my mom. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Shit. Right. Okay. My folks are here, apparently. Becca just texted me.” He didn’t add that his mom was wigging out. His compulsive stress case of a husband didn’t need that tidbit of information at the moment. Bucky wanted both of them to greet his family at the door, but he was just going to have to muster the nerve to do this part alone.

“Awwwww! I wanted to be there when they showed up!” Bucky heard street sounds in the background and the slam of the car door, the ding of the ignition turning on. “Hug Becca for me.”

“I’ll pinch her for you, instead, how about that? That’s the real sibling experience for an only child like you.”

“That’s not very nice!” But he heard the smirk in his voice. “Don’t pinch her for _me_ , then.”

“I’ll even blame you and tell her it was your idea.”

“That’s low, Barnes.”

“Welcome to the family, buddy.”

Bucky heard footsteps in the corridor and Becca’s voice, and he steeled himself. “Hey. I’m gonna go. They’re here. Don’t take too long.”

“I have to let Mom’s staff know she’s leaving and get her chair into the car. I won’t drag my feet.”

“See you in a few.” There was the knock at the door, and Bucky jumped a little, hating his own nerves. 

“Bye, Buck.” Steve’s voice held a note of regret at having to end the call. Or maybe Bucky was imagining it. He put down the salad spoons and rushed for the door, smoothed his hair, and opened it to Becca, George and Winifred, who were in the middle of commenting on the flooring in the hall and the paint when they looked up to greet him.

“Buckles! It’s NICE! Look what you two did with the place!” Becca tackle-hugged him and hung on him just to annoy him. Bucky took umbrage by getting Becca in a headlock, then yelped when she pinched him in the ribs.

“Stop,” Winifred scolded. “Is that any way to behave?”

“What? I’m just saying hi to my brother!” Becca assured her as she poked him in the armpit, just as Bucky tugged a lock of her hair. “Creep!” she yelped as they continued to attack each other.

“Turn him loose,” Winifred ordered before she gave Bucky a more dignified hug. “This is an improvement,” she said, kissing his cheek. “It smells good in here.”

“Steve likes that froufrou Febreeze spray,” he mentioned.

“That’s nice, but I meant dinner. What is it?”

“Stuffed shells. Steve’s mom likes it.”

“Oh. Is your roommate’s mother coming over tonight, too?” Winifred’s face lit up. Bucky chafed, and Becca mouthed _Oh, shit_ from across the room, where she was petting Iago on the couch.

“He’s just getting her from her apartment complex.”

“Is his dad not around?” George asked.

“Nope.” Bucky would let Steve discuss that, if he wanted. “So, it’ll just be his mom.”

“What’s she like?”

“Uh… she looks a lot like Steve.” The conversation was already proving a challenge and headed in directions that made Bucky do mental gymnastics. “They’ll be back soon.” Bucky didn’t want to admit that he hadn’t even met Sarah himself, yet. New apartment. New husband of convenience. New mother-in-law. And his parents were going to have to process it all over _one dinner_.

Bucky hemmed and hawed over the rest of the preparations, shooing off his mother’s offers of help. George situated himself in the living room with the remote control while Becca skimmed through a large moleskine sketch journal of Steve’s, humming with appreciation as she flipped each page.

“Steve’s talented,” she remarked. “Have you seen these, Bucky?”

“Uh. No. He, uh, kind of doesn’t like me looking through his sketches like that. Might want to put it back.”

“Oh. Well, I’m just looking, I’ll put it back in a second.” Bucky glared. Becca stuck out her tongue at him. “And technically, I’m family.”

“Technically, family? How?” Winifred asked, looking amused yet confused.

“Nothing,” Bucky insisted.

“What? What is ‘technically, family?’” Winifred pressed.

“Heck if I know,” Bucky said. “Who wants parmesan on their garlic bread?”

“Oooooh, me,” Becca piped up. Iago had made herself comfortable in his sister’s lap and was kneading her thigh. Becca didn’t even flinch when she dug in her claws. Iago was family, too.

“None for you,” Bucky threatened. Becca gave him her stink face. When Winifred turned her back, Bucky flipped Becca the bird, but he straightened up and smiled for his mother when she glanced his way again. Bucky took the pan of baked shells out of the oven and peeled back the tin foil, letting the scent waft through the kitchen. He sprinkled a generous amount of parmesan onto the buttered, split loaf of French bread and wasn’t shy with the garlic-parsley salt before he slid the tray into the still-hot oven. He was still nervous and fretting about Sarah’s arrival. How would Winifred and Sarah get along? 

“What does Steve do for a living? How is he able to afford living here?” Winifred grilled.

_Geez_.

“He’s a graphic designer.”

“They’re a dime a dozen in this town,” George remarked.

“Steve’s talented. He’s got some great clients. And _everybody_ in this town needs a roommate.”

“No offense,” George told him. “Just want to make sure he’s on the up-and-up. Not every roommate is Sam.” And he was right, because Sam was a wonderful roommate who paid his bills. 

“Just don’t tell him he’s a ‘dime a dozen’ in his chosen career field when he gets here, Dad,” Becca suggested dryly. Bucky wanted to kiss her. Okay. Okay. His sister was on his side, at least. That helped.

Winifred sat nestled against George on the couch while he watched a golf game (five hundred channels, and that was what he picked, Bucky groused to himself). Becca toyed with his cat’s ears while Bucky alternated between perching on the edge of one of their barstools and pacing from the living room to the door while he waited for Steve and Sarah. His palms sweated and he wondered if he should check his hair.

“Sit down, Bucky!” Becca called over to him. 

“I’m fine,” he argued.

“Relax, baby,” his mom told him, chuckling. “You already finished everything. Take a load off!”

But before he could consider it, he heard Steve’s key in the door, and Bucky rushed to beat him to it, grateful for the reprieve. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans’ legs and jerked the door open, finding Steve’s hand hovering in the air where he’d been holding his keys, which were still plugged into the knob. His eyebrows rose in amusement.

“Hey, Buck. Must’ve heard us coming.”

“My Steve senses were tingling.” Bucky peered down at the petite, slim woman in the wheelchair, wearing a pink, long-sleeved t-shirt and a floral print scarf wrapped around her head, comfortable, dark knit pants, and a matching pair of pink Converse low-tops on her feet. Her purse sat in her lap, and her blue eyes flitted over Bucky. Her smile was slow and polite, but she was quick to raise her hand to shake his. “You’re Steve’s mom.”

“Oh, no. I’m just some rando he pulled off the curb. He kidnapped me. Call the cops.”

“Ma!” Steve blushed and shook his head, and his lips twisted in a way that told Bucky that this was a typical reaction from his mother. Sarah Rogers, Smart-Ass Extraordinaire. Bucky liked her already. Her hand was thin and cool, but her grip was strong.

“Nice place you boys picked,” she went on. “Nice, wide doorway.” Bucky realized briefly that it was one of the reasons the apartment appealed to Steve when Peggy first gave them the tour. “Smells like someone else besides my son cooked.”

“Ma!” Steve was still looking sheepish, but he grinned as he brought Sarah into the living room. Winifred, George and Becca immediately stood, and Iago meowed in annoyance as the warm lap she was enjoying disappeared. 

“It’s not your strong suit, baby, but I still love you.” She shook George’s hand first. “This one can burn water. It’s my fault. My Joe loved me, even though I was a crappy cook, myself, when he was still with me. But his own mother was a professor. Worked full-tiime, never learned how to make a decent meal, either. So, at least when he put a ring on my finger, he knew what he was getting.”

“He was a lucky man,” George assured her, beaming. Bucky rolled his eyes; his dad was a flirt. “George Barnes.”

“Sarah Rogers.”

“I’m Winifred,” his mother piped up. “Cool sneakers.”

“I’m headed out to shoot a few rounds of hoop after dinner. We can play some one-on-one, kiddo. Show these amateurs how it’s done.” Winifred chuckled and nodded.

“Hey, if you’re game. Did you have any luck finding parking?”

“My son has it down to a science, by now,” Sarah told her. “He loves this neighborhood. Took him long enough to bring me to dinner.”

“Ma,” Steve hissed. He gave Bucky a look that begged _Tell me why this was a good idea, again?_ and brought Sarah over to the recliner, then locked the brakes on her wheelchair so she could situate herself on it. 

“This is nice. Aren’t we eating at the table?”

“We will, if you want.”

Bucky wanted to remind him that he’d just spent the past two hours nagging Bucky into submission and detailing the apartment, giving it the full white glove treatment. He _knew_ Steve didn’t want everybody eating in the living room, but he was also hovering over his mother, wanting to see to her comfort. “We can put on a movie,” Bucky suggested. “We can have it out here.”

“You guys registered for TV trays at Target, didn’t you?” Becca piped up, and panic lanced through Bucky, trickling coldly down his spine. Steve looked like a deer in the headlights.

_Shit._ Shit, shit, shit.

“Registered at Target?” Winifred looked amused. “Is that what people do nowadays when they get a new apartment with someone? You never did that with Sam!”

“Uh.” Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it.

Steve rubbed his nape. “Yeah. About that.”

Becca realized her error, but she bit her lip, watching and waiting for the confession, wondering how Bucky was going to get this off his chest.

“Funny thing. Steve and I… kind of got married.”

The announcement stopped all the conversation in the room faster than a fart in church.

“You-“ Winifred pointed between both men, mouth agape. “Wait. What?”

“’Kind of’ got married,” George echoed hollowly. “Ooooookaaaaaaay.”

“Yeah. Heh. Funny story,” Steve said, looking uncomfortable, his smile forced. “We. Uh. Why don’t we all get our plates?”

*

 

Bucky hoped he would feel less tense once they broke the ice.

His hopes went up in flames as the dinner progressed. There was no way to make this sound like anything but the crazy train wreck that they were. Steve and James Rogers-Barnes. Mister and Mister. Two goofballs sharing a lease and hoodwinking their landlady because of a clause and great amenities.

George and Winifred still shared the couch, squished into it more tightly now that Becca joined them, allowing Sarah the recliner. Sarah was pecking at her stuffed shells, mopping up the sauce with her bread. Steve wasn’t enjoying her stony silence at the moment. 

“So. You got married. When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks. So, was that after you moved in?”

“No. Right before,” Bucky admitted.

“So. How long have you known each other?” And Bucky knew he was about to be grilled like a flounder. Beside him, on the other dining room chair that they moved into the living room, Steve tensed.

“A while,” Steve offered. “I met Bucky at the bakery.” It was a reasonable attempt at honesty.

“Oh. At the bakery.”

“I’m a regular.” Steve nodded to his mom. “That’s where I get the cranberry muffins.”

“I guess that,” she said flatly as she stabbed into her shell. _Ouch_.

“You just met at random at the bakery,” Winifred surmised. “Well. That’s… modern.”

“Better than meeting on Tindr,” Becca told her simply, wiggling her eyebrows. Bucky shot her a look. _Not. Helping._ Becca shrugged back.

“It wasn’t that random. We’ve known each other for a while,” Steve hedged. “I fell for Bucky when he first told me to quit taking his parking space. He was so _forceful_.”

Becca choked on her salad. George rubbed her arm, and she waved him off. Winifred didn’t look amused.

“You got married in a hurry.”

“Steve didn’t get me in trouble,” Bucky assured her, because he was in just as much of a mood to be a little shit, at the moment.

“Where did you get married?”

“At the courthouse.”

“Oh, at the _courthouse._ ” Winifred threw up her hand and set her fork down on her unfinished plate. She slumped back against the couch.

“Mom. Don’t wig out,” Becca told her.

“I’m… I’m not! Are you listening to your brother right now? He got married in a courthouse!”

“I know that, Mom!”

“How _long_ have you known?”

Becca shrugged. “Since they moved in. I helped them unpack.”

Winifred’s eyes bulged. Sarah huffed from the recliner.

“Well. Congratulations are in order, I supposed. Mazel tov, boys.”

“Did they tell _you?_ ” Winifred accused.

“Not a word. It was a clandestine romance,” Sarah said. “Right, Stevie?”

“Ma,” he muttered. “Please?”

“Please, what? I don’t want to see my baby get married?” she told him. “Hm. Silly me, thinking I’d live to see such a thing or share that milestone with my only son.”

“Ma,” he repeated. Sarah had that effect on him, and Bucky pitied him enough to step in.

“The courthouse was my idea, Sarah. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Wanted to hurry up and buy that cow?” Sarah prodded. She smiled, but it didn’t reach those blue eyes. God, they were so much like Steve’s. And she also stole Steve’s patented I’m Judging You Face. _Fuck_.

“MA! Really?!”

“I’ve always wanted to see my son get married in a church. In front of the family. What was the point? What was the rush? I didn’t teach my son to be impulsive.”

“We just…” Bucky’s words failed him.

“Don’t be mad, Ma. Please?” Steve’s tone was plaintive.

“She’s right,” Winifred said, jumping back in. “We have relatives that would have wanted to see Bucky get married. Family friends. My coworkers will wonder why I never invited them.”

“Because it isn’t _their_ wedding,” Bucky snapped.

“Stop, James. That’s your mother you’re talking to,” George scolded. “Grow up.”

“I am grown up, Pop! Geez… it’s up to ME when and where I get married, last time I checked!”

“Aren’t you wondering how this looks to us?” Winifred asked, throwing up her hands again. “This is just information that it would have been nice to know!”

“Hey, it’s a tax credit,” Becca chimed in, voice bright, in an attempt to cut the tension.

“Becca,” George warned.

“Well, it is!” she said. “He didn’t get to do that when he lived with Sam.”

“Which begs the question,” Sarah said from the recliner. “Are you two in love?”

A hot flush spread over Bucky’s cheeks, and he didn’t even have to look at Steve to know he had turned red as a beet. He swallowed roughly, mouth suddenly dry. The words _It’s complicated_ lingered inside his mouth, but he held them back.

“Yes,” Steve pronounced, and his arm stretched around the top of Bucky’s chair, just grazing his shoulders. “We are. And we’re happy. We were fine with going to the courthouse. There was no sense in starting out together in debt from a big wedding. Ma, you always say that, yourself.”

“Oh, baloney,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “I just meant, don’t go overboard.”

“We just had my two employees there to witness it,” Bucky confessed. Sarah sighed.

“You could have told us. We might have at least tried to do a little something for you afterward.”

“Exactly,” Winifred added. “Like, a luncheon. Or a garden party at the house. My roses are in bloom.”

Bucky had to admit to himself that that sounded nice. “Maybe next time.” Steve swatted him.

“Gee, thanks, pal.”

“That… that’s not what I meant!” But Bucky snickered, and Steve’s shoulders unhunched themselves from around his ears, stiffness bleeding out of his posture as George and Winifred nodded and smiled. Becca’s lips twisted before she polished off her last stuffed shell.

“Suuuuuuure. Gonna trade me in for an upgrade. _This_ guy,” Steve teased, and his hand settled over Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing it. Then, kneading it when he noticed the tightness in his muscles. Bucky almost groaned at how good it felt, and he leaned into his touch, indulging in it for a minute before he excused himself.

“Let me take these to the sink. Anybody want anymore?” He tried to take Steve’s plate, but Steve rose from his seat, too, and took Bucky’s instead. 

“You cooked.”

“I can get-“

“No.” Steve held the plates away from Bucky, and then he leaned in and gave him a light kiss that sparked a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. “I’ve got this. You cooked. Hang out with your parents.” He went to Sarah and peered down at her half-finished plate.

“You okay, Ma? Not hungry?”

“I’ve had enough, baby. My eyes are just bigger than my stomach. Your hubby makes a mean plate of pasta.” And she winked at Bucky, who nodded and winked back.

“Thank that woman on the couch.”

“Nice job, Winifred.”

“I try.”

But both women found remarkably little to talk about as the evening wore on. Steve gave George one of his business cards with his contact information on it, which Bucky figured would put his dad’s mind to rest about Steve having a legitimate income. Bucky hoped he wasn’t planning to background check him or give Steve’s fingerprints to the CIA…

“I want dessert,” Becca said. “Show me the sweets.”

Winifred and George begged off, claiming that they were stuffed, and Becca pouted, but Sarah saved the moment.

“Enjoy a piece for me, kiddo. I know I’m probably just going to end up taking a little bit home. I won’t mind if you dig in now.”

“Go ahead, sis,” Bucky told her.

“Hey, I’m a guest! You aren’t gonna serve me?”

“Sisters don’t count as guests,” Bucky argued, but Becca followed him into the kitchen, anyway, while he fetched her a dessert plate. Becca sidled up to him and leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I fucked up,” she muttered.

“Yeah. Kinda did.” He deftly sliced the galette and scooped on a large dollop of the cream that he whipped and chilled that morning. He sprinkled on a hint of cinnamon with a flourish and handed it over to his sister.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. It was gonna come out at some point.”

“They just need to process it.”

“They wigged out.”

“Yeah.” Becca sighed and hugged him around the waist. “At least he stepped up.”

“Who? Steve?”

“Well, _yeah_. He just jumped right in when his mom asked if you guys were really a thing.” Becca’s eyes flicked back toward the living room, where Steve now sat by his mom on the floor. Sarah was stroking his hair where he leaned his head against the armrest of the recliner, telling him he needed it trimmed soon. Her expression was fond, if a little exasperated. “Gotta admit, Buckster. He’s nice. You need to keep this one.”

“We’ve got a year lease, Becks.”

“Then, maybe you should re-sign it,” she said as she took the plate from him and crammed an enormous bite into her mouth.

*

 

Steve made his goodbyes to Bucky’s family when he noticed his mother dozing in the chair, brows furrowed and chin propped on her hand. He helped her to ease into her wheelchair, and Sarah princess-waved to everyone in the room on the way out. “It’s been real, folks. Have a safe trip home, Winifred. George.” She nodded to Becca. “Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t take any wooden nickels.”

“No, ma’am,” Becca agreed soberly, but she made pointy finger guns.

“Dinner was lovely,” Sarah told Bucky. “Glad you boys are getting settled in.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

She sighed up at him, shaking her head. “Call me Ma. This one does. You’re ‘technically family.’”

Why did he hear irony in her voice?

“Ma,” Steve muttered. “C’mon.”

“No. You are. You’re my son-in-law. However you arrived at that.” She took Bucky’s hand and squeezed it. Then she tugged on it, and Bucky obeyed the silent injunction to lean down. “You be good to my boy,” she murmured. “I know where you live.”

“I will.” Bucky flicked his eyes up to Steve, who wore an odd expression, and his hands tightened on the handles of Sarah’s chair.

“You’d better.” Then, more brightly, and to everyone in the room, “It’s been real, folks! ‘Night!”

They left, and Bucky was relieved when his parents decided to call it a night, too. Becca made no move to get up. She took up the whole couch, legs stretched out, with the cat back on her lap. Winifred kissed him and tugged lightly on his hair. “You could use a trim, too.”

“I know, Mom.”

“You look tired, dear.”

“I’m okay. Just busy at work.” 

“All right. Get your rest. Don’t run yourself ragged. Maybe you need more help at the bakery.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Nat and Sharon are great. We get it all done.”

“So, Sarah has cancer?” George asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Aggressive?”

“Yeah. It is.” 

“Poor Steve,” Winifred mused. “That’s a lot to have on his mind.”

“He takes great care of her,” Bucky assured her, because that was something he could tell them confidently, without hedging. His husband adored his mother. “Steve takes her back and forth to her appointments. She likes things with apple and cranberry when Steve comes to the shop.”

“That’s nice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Take care of yourself, son.” George hugged him stiffly. “Next time you make a big life change, mind giving us a heads-up?”

“Or even a phone call,” Winifred added, shaking her head. They nagged Bucky all the way to the door and beyond, with Winifred still barking suggestions for future plans at their house from the corridor, while Bucky leaned out of the doorframe.

“Okay. Right. Okay. Okay, Mom. Love you. Okay. I will I’ll tell Steve. Love you, bye!” He retreated inside, shut the door, and leaned back against it, exhaling a dramatic, noisy breath. “Why.”

“Because, Mom.” Becca looked unsympathetic. “I’d only been living away from home for six months, but Mom acted like I never left. She rearranged my knickknacks every time she came over and bleached everything in sight.” Iago squinted in agreement as Becca scratched her ears. “I have to go drop off Wren’s medicine. She went to a sleepover tonight, or otherwise, I would have brought her. She let her inhaler roll out of bag when she was putting her stuffed animals into it.” Becca yawned. “And I’m beat. You guys fed me too much. Now I need a nap.”

“Don’t blame me. You have no self-control.”

“Because you keep throwing _sugar_ at me! And carbs!”

“Iago is around the sugar and carbs all the time. She doesn’t have a problem with it.” Iago mewed in agreement.

“Don’t take his side,” Becca hissed down at her.

“So. How do you think that went? Be honest.”

“Maybe it could have gone better. Are you ever gonna tell them why you guys really got married?”

“I just… I can’t. It would make it weird. And it would make me look like a shitheel.”

“Oh, don’t say that! That’s overdoing it a little, bud. You guys have an arrangement that worked out for you. Steve helped you out in a pinch, and you helped him. There are worse guys you could shack up with.”

“We’re not shacked up. We’re married.”

“Oh, haha.”

“Well, we are.” If his tone was a teeny bit defensive, well, there you had it.

Becca lounged on the couch for a few more minutes. Steve returned, and Bucky got up and held out his hand for Steve’s car keys, which he automatically tossed to him.

“Gonna give Sis a ride home?”

“I like that! I like Sis coming from this guy!” Becca got up and put on her shoes, and she went up to Steve and rubbed his shoulder. He promptly threw an arm around hers.

“See? Somebody likes me,” Steve bragged.

Bucky chafed at the implication of the “somebody,” as though somebody _else_ had a problem with him.

“Yeah, well. Becca doesn’t count.”

“HEY!” Becca broke away and chased Bucky around the living room, hand raised to clobber him. Bucky ducked past her reach and snickered. Steve grinned, enjoying their nonsense for a minute.

“Thanks for coming tonight, Becca.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. At least Mom can be pissed at somebody besides ME for a change.”

“Mom thinks the sun rises and sets on your ass, Becks.”

“Not _even_.”

“You made her a grandma first.”

“And I got divorced, first. Don’t forget that.”

“She’s fine with it. She just wants you to be happy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Becca hugged Bucky, then went to hug Steve, who gave Bucky a ridiculous grin.

“See? She loves me best.”

“Shhhhhh,” Becca hissed. “Don’t tell him, just string him along!”

“God, let me take you home, already!”

*

When Bucky arrived home, Steve was on his laptop, drawing with his stylus. He glanced up at him without any greeting. Bucky sighed deeply and kicked off his shoes.

“Well, that went well.”

“Is that you being facetious? Or do you think that really went well?”

“Well, what do _you_ think?” Bucky headed for the kitchen and hunted down the dessert box. He sliced himself a hefty hunk of the galette and wasn’t pretty with his serving of whip; it nearly slopped off the edge of the plate. He took a bite and huffed in annoyance; one of his better galettes, and no one wanted to eat it. What the hell?

“I think…” Steve paused, then took off his reading glasses to rub his eyes. “It wasn’t ideal.”

“What do you think could have gone better?”

“Maybe feeling like your parents don’t hate me?”

“Steve? They don’t hate you!”

“They didn’t seem impressed.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” Bucky frowned over the edge of his plate as he ate. “You’re working. You don’t have a nose ring or a felony on your record. You know words with more than two syllables. You can use utensils and you’re potty-trained. You’re a real Prince Charming. Trust me. I’ve dated _far_ worse men than you.”

“Oh, my God. That’s supposed to reassure me?”

“Yup. Feel reassured, yet?”

“What? NO!”

“Stevie. It went fine. Okay? Becca dropped the ball and let the cat out of the bag. But… you really handled that well. I really… appreciate what you said.”

“Hey. Gotta tell ‘em what they wanna hear.” Steve’s smile was lopsided and wry. “You’re welcome, jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is short. I really wanted this update, and this particular dinner scene, and I'm EXHAUSTED. I promise this will move along a little more with the next update. We might get to meet Bucky's niece and some more of the supporting cast. Thanks for reading.


	8. Sometimes, It’s Heaven Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should Bucky be jealous of how much Iago loves Steve?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue what I’m doing. But I love cats, and indulgent cat parents. And I’m revisiting bits and pieces of previous chapters with this one.

Bucky came home to Steve with his legs stretched out on the couch, Iago sprawled out on his chest, his laptop on his lap, and low music playing from the laptop’s speakers. Bucky was immediately envious of his bare legs and feet. Steve was already wearing comfy boxers and a worn t-shirt that was probably royal blue at one point, with a cracked Captain America shield emblem that was ready to disappear with about ten more washings. Iago craned her head in Bucky’s direction, but she flicked her tail against Steve’s arm and stretched, booping his chin with her paw.

“What the hell? So, you’ve stolen my cat, now?”

“She’s just visiting,” Steve told him, but his expression was smug, and Iago started purring in agreement. “She won’t let me work, so we’re just Web surfing and checking Pinterest.”

Bucky lit up. “Ooh. Pinterest. That sounds… good.”

“Pull up a chair and log on, Barnes.”

Bucky headed to his room and shucked his work clothes and headed into the shower. He went to squeeze some conditioner out of the bottle and heard the low burping sound of it being nearly empty. “Okay. You use it, you replace it, pal,” he muttered. It wasn’t a huge deal, but Bucky’s hair tended to fight with him when he didn’t condition it. He scrubbed the last remnant of white crème into his hair and let the hot water pound out his aches and pains. He had a kink in his shoulder from handling dough all day, but business was strong for most of the afternoon. Bucky longed for his usual spot on the couch, but Steve already snagged it. He just hoped Steve let him enjoy his evening at home.

The only bath towel on the rack was damp already. Bucky fumed. Weren’t there two clean ones hanging up that morning? He went back to his room and found PJ pants and an undershirt with a few tiny holes in it that let his skin breathe. He dried his hair roughly with the funky towel before he threw it into the hamper.

“Did you get to thaw out any meat this morning?” Bucky asked.

“Hamburger,” Steve told him. “I actually have half my takeout left from that Paleo food truck that I told you about, if you want it. So you don’t have to cook?”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You sure? The cauliflower rice is good.”  
Bucky made a face as he unwrapped the package of ground beef. “There’s cauliflower in the rice?”

“No. It’s cauliflower grated really fine, to equal the consistency of rice. It’s grain-free.”

“Oh, my God. You’re as bad as Sam.”

“What? It’s good! It won’t make you bloat up, it has a low glycemic index, it’s gluten-free-“

“No. Just, no.”

“Okay. But Paleo changes lives.”

“You’ll pry my grains from my cold, dead hands.” Then it hit Bucky. “And, anyway, you eat flour!”

“Some. But once in a while, I detox from it.”

“But, a hamburger wouldn’t kill you?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Then get in here and make yourself one.” Steve shot him a hurt look.

“Did you hear that, Iago? Your daddy’s mean.” She mewed up at him and kept bapping him with her tail. “I know. He knows I’m allergic to the oven.”

“But your hands aren’t broken. C’mere and find me a frying pan and make yourself useful.”

Steve sighed raggedly. “But. But. We were so _cozy._

Bucky knew that feeling. Once Iago was settled in, it was hard to get back up. “Just bring your ass over here, Rogers!” And he heard the low creak of the couch as Steve extricated himself from its cushy embrace, and Iago’s chirpy meow of protest at being put aside. Bucky knew that removing the cat came at the expense of her claws trying to stay hooked in his shirt, like stubborn Velcro. That’s why his undershirt had holes. Steve was rumpled and covered in cat hair, but he was also relaxed and content. Which, Bucky was aware, was far too rare.

“No dry bath towels?” Bucky asked as Steve unloaded the clean dish rack and put the plates and cereal bowls in the cabinet. 

“Yeah. Funny story. Iago decided to visit me while I was taking a shower. She jumped onto the edge of the tub and kept poking at the shower curtain. She likes the pictures on it.” It was the finest curtain money could buy at Target, or “Tar-Jhay,” as Steve called it, and it was printed with little beige and sea foam green seashells and fish. “So, she kept batting at it, and she got up on her hind legs and lost her balance.”

Bucky snorted. “No.”

“Oh, God, yes. Yes, she did. Your girl, there, knocked herself into the shower with me and scared the shit out of me in the process.”

Bucky snickered, shoulders shaking at the mental image. “So, she got a bath.” He dumped the beef into a bowl and rinsed his hands.

“Iago was not amused. Iago is now very clean.”

“I wondered about that.” Bucky dried his fingers on a dish towel and found the black pepper grinder. He added pepper to the heap of beef, enjoying that Steve was home in time to have dinner with him. It was just… nice.

“She was growling up a storm from across the room for a while. I wrapped her in the towel to cuddle her and calm her down. And she spent the rest of the day, on top of me like a great, big kitty pancake.”

“This one doesn’t like baths.”

“I gathered that.” Steve rubbed at his collarbone. “She nicked me a little when I picked her up.”

“Oh, no.” Bucky wandered over to him, leaned down and examined the tiny, red scratch that Steve revealed when he tugged down the neckband of his shirt. “Ouch. She got you good.”

Steve shivered at the sensation of Bucky’s breath fanning over his skin, and he righted his shirt quickly, and then returned to his chore. “What are you putting in the burgers?”

“Grab me the Worcestershire sauce? And the garlic bulb from the fridge?” The two of them puttered around in the kitchen while Iago assumed ownership of Steve’s vacated warm spot on the couch. 

“What else?”

“Bread crumbs.”

“The canned kind?”

“No. I just use leftovers.” Bucky went to the counter and unwrapped the end of a loaf of bread that he brought home. “It’s easy. I just throw it into the blender.” And he showed Steve, tearing up big chunks of bread and throwing it into his Ninja blender on the counter, clicking on the lid, and hitting the Start button. It pulsed the bread into fine crumbs in under a minute.

“That’s handy.” Steve looked impressed.

“Voila.” Bucky dumped the crumbs in with the meat and then doused it generously with Worcestershire. He mixed it with his hands and coached Steve on how to dice the onions and garlic.

“You make this look easy.”

“It is, if you do it often enough.”

“Cooking’s not my strong suit. Ma didn’t lie when she said I can burn water.”

Bucky smiled fondly. “Your mom’s cute.”

“Yeah. Well.” Steve kept chopping, then sniffed, rubbing his eye with the back of his hands. “Okay. I forgot how much chopping onions sucked. Why did you give me this job?”

“Cooking is good for the soul.”

“You’ve got the easy part, asshole!”

“This isn’t easy as it looks! It’s very complicated, I’ll have you know, Rogers! You have to knead in the crumbs with the perfect attention to evenly distributing it through the-“

“No. You’re just mushing it around in the bowl! That’s not ‘distributing,’ that’s just mushing it!”

“Hey, you can always come over here and do it,” Bucky suggested, with an evil gleam in his eye. He reached into the bowl and held up a messy glob of bread-speckled beef. “C’mere, Steve. C’mere… come and play with my beef!”

“Oh, my God, you’re so twisted… Bucky, that’s gross. Put that down! Oh, SHIT!”

“C’mon, buddy, taste it for me! I need to know if I put in enough pepper!” Bucky darted after Steve as he backed away from the counter, letting the onion chopping knife skitter into the sink. He looked disgusted, amusement mingling with panic that Bucky _might actually cram the raw, gooey hamburger in his face_ with no reservation. “Quit bein’ so squeamish!”

“Bucky, it’s RAW!” Steve evaded him, doubling back around the other side of the kitchen table while Bucky jiggled the handful of meat precariously.

“It’s what’s for dinner, buddy!”

“Please, don’t! Don’t! No! NO! Doooonnnnnnn’t!” Because Bucky was fast, and Steve missed his opportunity to get past him when a chair tripped him up, and Bucky caught him and lurched the two of them against the refrigerator. Bucky had a grip on Steve’s arm, and he was grinning wickedly, hovering the beef right under Steve’s nose. Steve was craning his face away from it, swatting at him, shoving at Bucky’s chest. 

“Not even a tiny taste? You’re no fun, Rogers.”

“I’m no fun at all. Bucky… please. Don’t. Raw meat, it’s just… SO gross.”

“Aw.”

“If I say ‘uncle,’ will you get away from me with that?”

“Yes. I won’t be happy about it, but yes. I will respect your raw meat aversion.” Then Bucky glanced down. “Ooh. Grab it again.” His tone was teasing, and he winked at Steve.

“What?” Steve squawked.

Then Steve noticed that his palm was flat against Bucky’s pec. His lips curled, and Steve slid his palm down a little lower and _squeezed_ the mound of firm, smooth flesh, making Bucky yelp and back all the way off. “I didn’t mean you should really do it!’

“Sure, you didn’t!” Bucky retreated quickly to the other side of the kitchen and returned the handful of meat to the bowl. Steve went to mop up a few stray bits of it that hit the floor with a Clorox wipe. 

“Go chop your onions.” Bucky was bright red and his chest tingled where Steve had grabbed him. His dick jerked awake with the contact, too, but thankfully, Bucky was able to conceal his condition by leaning against the counter to finish forming the patties, once Steve threw in the rest of the chopped onions and garlic. 

“What else are we eating with the burgers?”

“I don’t know. Whatever we have, I guess. We need to go grocery shopping. We’re running out of _conditioner_.”

“Uh. Yeah. We kind of are. Sorry. I ran out, and I’ve been using yours, a little.”

“Your hair looks suspiciously well-moisturized and full of body.”

“Guilty?”

“No biggie. You’re buying us some more.”

“Then, we can go to Costco.”

“Is it even a bargain if you still walk out of the store two hundred dollars poorer?” Once in a while, Bucky and Natasha would make a run to Costco if they ran out of supplies before Scott came with their delivery. Even though it was a giant warehouse with wide aisles, the crowds who swarmed each display made Bucky feel claustrophobic and hemmed in.

“We’ll get a few bargains there,” Steve allowed. “I wanna go and get Mom some more socks. They have the ones she likes on sale.”

Bucky felt his argument against the Costco trip faltering. “What else do you usually get at Costco that we can’t just pick up at Target?”

“I was going to get her some flowers, too. It’s her birthday on Friday.”

“Right. So, let’s make a Costco list, then.” They scribbled a list on the little whiteboard on the fridge, and once the burgers were sizzling in the skillet, Bucky went to his phone to update his contact calendar with Sarah’s birthday. Because, hello?

“Steve?”

“Wanna add apples to that list?”

“Apples?” Steve smiled and shrugged before he jotted them down. “That’s fine. Why?”

“No reason.”

“O. Kay.”

*

 

“Look what I had made,” Sharon boasted the next morning at the bakery as she handed Bucky a little shipping pouch that had already been opened.

“What is it?” He peered down into it and reached inside, pulling out a small magnet. He saw himself and Steve in front of the podium at the county clerk’s office. “What…?”

“I told you I was going to have a magnet made of your special day!” she reminded him, poking him. “So. There you go.”

“We look… constipated.” Their smiles were still just as forced as he remembered. Uncomfortable. “Here. You can keep it.” He put it back into the pouch and handed it back to her.

“No! It’s your wedding gift!”

“Your _other_ wedding gift,” Natasha specified. “Look for a little goodie in the mail later this week, Barnes.”

“Why?” He looked amused. 

“We got you a little something off your registry list,” Natasha bragged. “At least you guys took our advice and registered. Might as well make the most of your arrangement.”

“Oh, we’re having a ball,” Bucky assured her.

“It’s not going badly, is it?”

“We told our parents we had a quickie wedding. Didn’t really go over well.”

“Did you tell them it was to get the apartment?”

“No! I wasn’t going to tell them that!” Bucky looked appalled as he unwrapped the cubes of butter and put them into the bowl of his Kitchen-Aid mixer. “That just makes the whole thing sound skeevy.”

“So, rather than admit that it was a skeevy rental scheme, you just let them believe that you eloped out of the blue with a guy you occasionally see at work?” Nat pressed.

“That doesn’t sound much better,” Sharon informed him. 

“It really doesn’t,” Nat agreed, as both women shook their heads at Bucky.

“Can we drop this?”

“Like a hot potato,” Nat decided. “Actually, we wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“About what?”

“Some time off. For our wedding.”

“And more importantly, our honeymoon.” Sharon was beaming as she said this. “Because we might want you to return a favor, and add a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Bucky paused with his hand on the power switch of the mixer, feeling ominous dread sink into his flesh.

“We want you and Steve in our wedding.”

“Oh, God. Wait. You want me and Steve… like, to stand up for you?”

“And walk down as our groomsmen.”

“Oh, Nat. That’s… I doubt he’d go for it. Steve’s so buttoned up, I don’t know if this is his thing.”

“He might have fun. And the two of you should get out more together. Show him off. He’s gorgeous,” Sharon reminded him. “Because, y’know. If I wasn’t _gay_?” She gave Bucky a big, ridiculous wink while Nat swatted her. “You know I love my little, sweet Tasha Bear!”

“Oh, God, you two are sickening…”

“And I wuv you too, Share-Bear…” And they gave each other treacly kisses right in front of him, with Nat humming her enjoyment.

“That’s enough. Oh, God. Too much. I didn’t need to see and hear that.”

“But anyway,” Nat said, getting back on topic. “Wedding. You two. In color-coordinating suits. We’re going to get married at the park, at the gazebo.”

“When?”

“In April.” That was in six months.

“That gives me time to find a back-up to help me at the front counter, then,” Bucky said, sighing. “But, I don’t know about me and Steve. Let’s hope we don’t drive each other crazy between now and then.”

“Are you really not getting along?” Nat’s brows drew together.

“No. It’s… I just don’t want to take liberties and have him do too much ‘date’ stuff. I mean, I married him, but… he’s my _roommate._ ”

"Roommate. Husband. Not much difference,” Nat told him.

“Uh, there’s a difference,” Sharon said, holding up her hand. “These two aren’t bumping uglies.”

Nat shrugged.

“That’s not off the table.”

“Oh, it’s nowhere near the table,” Bucky insisted. And he turned away, needing any excuse to get away from this conversation, because he felt his color rising and prickles covering his skin.

“No, I think it pulled up to the table and took a seat.” Nat folded her arms and leaned against the counter. “C’mon. You like him, don’t you?”

“Pffft. C’mon, Nat. Steve? You think I like Steve?”

“I don’t think you _don’t_ like him.” Sharon watched the discussion like it was a ping-pong match, smirking over the cookies she was piping with blue icing. “I think you might have a little crush.”

“I’ve had worse roommates. And as far as fake husbands go, he isn’t bad.”

“Oh, my God, James! You TOTALLY like Steve!” Nat gaped, grinning, and she punched Bucky in his good arm, which wouldn’t continue to be his good one if she didn’t stop that.

“We don’t have anything in common. And he’s so Type A.”

“So are you!”

Bucky huffed, exasperated. “No, I’m not! I’m mellow!”

“Oh, like hell!”

“Okay, Exhibit A of the evidence that James Barnes is Not a Mellow Type B,” Sharon said. “’Okay, Sharon and Nat, make sure you stock the walk-in cupboard so that the non-fat items are with non-fat, and whole fat with whole fat. Sort them by color. Make sure the expiration dates are facing the west side of the kitchen, unless it’s Tuesday, and then, banana.’”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“Unless it’s Tuesday,” Natasha echoed. “And then, banana. That’s you. You’re insufferable, but we love you, anyway.”

“You’re anal, in your own way,” Sharon agreed.

“And you do that thing with the toilet paper rolls.”

“What? I learned it from my mom.”

“Making sure the roll is facing up and V-tipping the first piece? This isn’t the Holiday Inn, buddy.” Nat shook her head. “You’re perfect for Steve, and he’s just the man for you.”

“And I remember that _someone_ didn’t exactly _hate_ that kiss at the front counter.”

“That… that was different. He was just… doing me a favor.”

“That was a statement. Steve made a _statement_ by making out with you. You two were sucking face.”

“I almost had to hose you down,” Sharon added.

“No. You. Did. Not.”

“She wants the excuse to aim a hose at you,” Nat said simply.

“I do,” Sharon told him. “But you two were getting hot and heavy out there.”

“No, we weren’t. It was just… he was just making sure Brock knew his attention wasn’t welcome anymore.”

“Damn right, it isn’t.” Nat tsked in disgust. “I still want to kill him. Can I kill him for you?”

“That’s illegal, but I love you, kiddo.”

“Love you, too, James. So. You’ll be in our wedding and tell Steve we want him in it, too?”

“Guys… come on!” Bucky deflated. “It’ll be too weird. Can we drop it?”

*

 

And of course, they dropped it.

Until Nat picked it back up when Steve arrived in the bakery on his lunch break. He looked nice in his work clothes, a long-sleeve buttondown that matched his eyes and dark slacks. He smiled and gave them the full dimple treatment. “Hey,” he murmured to Bucky, “hubby.”

“God, you’re awful. Hey, honey. How was your day?” Bucky gave him his best June Cleaver impersonation, just to be a dick. 

“It’ll be better after a blonde roast and a lemon bar.”

“Wait. You’re going to eat one of my lemon bars?”

“If you actually _give_ me one,” Steve mentioned. “That’s how that works. For me to _eat_ the lemon bar, you have to actually take one out of the case, take it off the tray, put it on the plate, and then hand it to me over the counter.”

“And ring it up. Don’t forget that part, Steve.” Nat always had the bottom line in mind. “You get a family discount. Not a five-fingered one.”

“Yup. Love is a magical thing, but the lemon bars ain’t free, pal.” But Sharon grinned at him and poured him a cup of coffee. “Just one?”

“Are there cranberry muffins?”

“There are,” Bucky told him. Because Steve hadn’t peeked at the day’s specials yet, and he didn’t feel like badgering him about it. And it just so turned out that… no. Cranberry muffins weren’t on the specials menu. But Bucky made a batch, anyway, and kept them in the back. Just in case. Just because.

“Can I get one to go?”

“Want the whole order to go?”

“No. Just the… just the muffin.” Steve looked hopefully at Bucky. “Have you, uh, taken lunch yet?”

“No.” Bucky’s lips twitched. “Are you asking me to have lunch with you?”

“Well. I’m asking you if you ate yet. And I’m gonna sit over there with my lemon bar, which looks delicious-“

“And you didn’t grill me for twenty minutes, asking me what I put into it,” Bucky mentioned, impressed.

“And I’m going to eat it, and if you want, you can sit in the other empty seat at that table. And bring food with you. And eat it. And, y’know. You can even _talk_ to me, while you’re sitting there. Because you’re such a swell guy.”

“Oh. I’m swell. That’s the hip lingo all the cool kids are using nowadays, huh?”

“Does anyone say hip anymore? Or lingo?”

“Do you want that lemon bar, or not?”

“I’ll take the lemon bar, the coffee, and the guy in the ponytail who made them, for the next twenty minutes. So I can grill you about what you put into them. And so you can rest your feet.”

Which wasn’t a bad idea, since Bucky’s feet were killing him.

Bucky sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, like Steve laid the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he was smirking, showing those little crinkles around his eyes. “Pay up. Go siddown. I’ll be out in a sec.”

Bucky headed back into the kitchen to grab himself a sandwich, and as Nat passed him with a tray of sliced breads, she muttered, “Oh, you don’t like him _at all_.”

“I don’t. Not. Like him.” Bucky poked her in her side, and she couldn’t take umbrage without dropping the tray. “Get back to work. Sheesh!” Bucky threw together a sandwich, ham and provolone with a sun-dried tomato pesto, some lettuce and thinly sliced medallions of cucumber on a fresh baguette. He cut the sandwich in half and brought it out with an iced tea for himself and grabbed a second plate. When he reached Steve’s table, Steve smiled up at him.

“You didn’t spit on my lemon bar, did you?”

“Nope. That costs extra.”

“No family discount on spittle?”

“Shut up and eat.” Bucky put half of the sandwich on the second plate and slid it over to Steve.

“That looks… really good. Are you charging me for it?”

“Technically, I’m sharing it with you. Or I could ring you up for it, as a manager’s special.”

“No. Sharing is good.” 

“How’s work?”

“Must be going well. No one’s told me to pack up my desk, yet. That’s a good sign.”

“How do they treat you?”

“Like a wage slave and a peon.”

“I’m glad I’m my own boss, now.”

“He’s lying. He knows I’m the boss,” Nat called over to them from the counter. “We just put Bucky out front because he looks pretty.”

“Don’t let that get out!” Bucky warned. “I’ll lose my credibility as a baker!”

“You do, though,” Steve muttered over the edge of his coffee.

“I do, what?”

“Look pretty.”

Bucky nearly choked on his bite of sandwich.

“Geez, don’t kill him,” Sharon said as she watched her boss stumble over his husband’s attempt at… whatever it was that Steve was trying to do over there. 

“M’fine,” Bucky rasped, but he almost inhaled the bite before he could fully chew it, again, and this time, Steve got up out of his chair and came to his side of the table, clapping him on the back, then rubbing it when Bucky held up his hand to stop him. Steve stared down at him in sympathy, contrite.

“You okay?”

“God… no.”

“Went down the wrong pipe?”

“No. Thanks. To you. Punk.” Bucky coughed again, then finally finished the bite. “Okay. Fess up. Did you take out a life insurance policy on me? Is that why you’re trying to kill me?”

Steve rubbed his back, this time with a sheepish smile. His hands were warm. “I’ll bookmark that idea when I can afford the premium.”

“Be careful, Steve-O. You’re clean-cut, just like an Eagle Scout. You’ll look great in your mug shot.”

“Like the suspect who doesn’t look like they could ever be the suspect,” Sharon said. “So. Since you didn’t take out a policy on Bucky yet, you can be his date to our wedding.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at her, but she just smiled, oozing charm.

“When are you two getting married?” And Steve looked pleased at the announcement, at any rate, but he looked like he was still chewing on the concept of being Bucky’s “date.”

“This April. We already checked the Farmer’s Almanac. Should be a perfect Saturday afternoon.”

“We want you two to stand up for us, like we did for you,” Nat chimed in as she sidled up to Sharon, wrapping her arm around her waist. “We’ll even rent you both nice suits. Whaddya say, Steve?”

“That, uh.” He glanced down at Bucky, who gave him a look that pleaded, _Please, don’t._ “Are we free that weekend, Bucky?” 

Bucky wanted to kiss him. “It’s too soon to tell. I don’t want to commit the two of us if you have plans-“

“The only plans he has is to show up with you on his arm, looking _adorable_ ,” Natasha pronounced. 

“You should see the bridal party outfits Natasha picked out,” Sharon told them, beaming. “I’m so excited! Please say you’ll do it?”

“You’ll finally get to see Bucky in some real clothes instead of the stuff that fell off the floor from the clearance rack that nobody felt like hanging back up.” Nat grinned in the face of Bucky’s glare. “Bucky here looks _gorgeous_ in a suit.”

“How would you know?” he grumbled.

“Because someone took me to our senior prom, before we both each figured out why it was a mistake.”

Steve nodded. “Hm.” Then, “Please tell me you still have the prom photos?”

“Oh, brother, do I!”

“Nat.” Bucky’s eyes promised retribution. But Natasha grinned wickedly and snickered, rubbing her hands.

“If you promise you and Steve will walk in our wedding, those photos will never see the light of day.”

Bucky blew out an exasperated breath. Steve lightly slugged Bucky in the shoulder.

“We’ll be there with bells on,” Steve promised.

“YAY!” Sharon jumped up and down and clapped her hands. “You’re both going to look so good! This is great! I’m so excited!” And she squished Steve, kissing his cheek before she disappeared back behind the counter.

“Why do I feel like I’ve just been had?” Bucky wondered.

“It won’t be that bad.” Steve sat back down and tried the sandwich, making a pleased noise as he licked up a bit of the pesto. “I gotta know, though. When you picked out your tux for prom, did the shirt have the little ruffles on it?”

“Oh, God. I hate you…”

“C’mon! I gotta know!”

“Just eat your damned lemon bar.”

They ate, and Steve showed Bucky a few shots of some of the camera-ready artwork that he had to include in the journal’s layout. Bucky told Steve about the wedding cake he had to build, three tiers enrobed in white fondant with tiny pearls. (“The bride’s in Vera Wang. The bridesmaids are in yellow chiffon. They’ll never wear those dresses again, Steve. You know they won’t.”)

They people-watched from their corner table, enjoying the customer traffic. Charles stopped by, and a handsome, older gentleman with thick waves of silver hair and shrewd blue eyes was pushing his wheelchair.

“There are the happy newlyweds,” Charles teased. “You’re looking well.”

“Marriage agrees with you,” Charles’ friend told them. “Erik Lensherr.” Steve and Bucky both rose to shake his hand. “I’m glad times have changed.”

“Indeed, they have,” Charles mused. “Erik and I have been partners for over thirty years.”

“It wasn’t the sort of thing one just broadcast to the neighborhood,” Erik told them. He laid a fond hand on Charles’ shoulder and squeezed.

“You won’t keep me from shouting it from the rooftops, now.” Charles beamed up at him, and Erik shook his head, but he looked pleased.

“Who’s going to take you up to the rooftop?”

“It was nice to meet you,” Steve told Erik. “Good to see you again, Charles. Are you here for your muffin fix?”

“Of course!”

“He won’t stop raving about your blueberry muffins,” Erik explained. “I told him that we won’t come back if I don’t get my cup of Earl Grey.”

“Natasha has some waiting for you,” Bucky said, with a nod and a wink. “I don’t disappoint my regulars.”

“Oh, Charles, I like this one!”

“See you at home, Buck.” Steve reached for their empty plates, taking them to drop them into the bussing tub at the counter. He smiled down at him and leaned in to kiss Bucky, and Bucky met him halfway, curling his fingers around Steve’s nape. He tasted lemon and pesto on his lips. The kiss was brief, and Steve’s smile was a little contrite. _Gotta give ‘em a show._

Bucky didn’t realize that his dreamy smile still lingered even after Steve had walked out the door.

“Ah, newlyweds,” Charles murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter put the boys back on their timeline. Their lease needs to be renewed shortly after Nat and Sharon get married. Hint, hint. Next chapter might see a return of Peggy, and the boys' neighbors might appear. And we might revisit Steve's statement from previous chapters, "The last time anyone proposed marriage to me involved a lot more drama than this and failed to launch."
> 
> Thanks to anyone who has stuck with this story for this long.


	9. We Don’t Know Which Way to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get to know their neighbors and get an invitation from their landlady. Because she has _no reason at all whatsoever_ to doubt her new tenants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahahahahahahaha.

Bucky was in the middle of scrubbing a caked-on skillet when he heard a knock at the door. “Stevie! Can you get that?”

He didn’t hear his roomie’s feet heading across the room to get it after a few seconds, and whoever it was knocked again, this time with “shave and a haircut, two bits.” Bucky grumbled under his breath, then yelled, “Steve-O! Yo! Can you get the door, please?”

Bucky dropped the skilled into the sink full of soapy water and scrambled for a dishtowel, annoyed that it was missing. And apparently, for the moment, so was his roommate (husband). “Fine, then,” Bucky decided. He clapped his damp hands off on his jeans and jogged to the door. “I’m coming!” he called out. He unlocked the door and jerked it open just before his visitor had the chance to knock again. A slim, sandy blond guy about Bucky’s age stood there with his fist hovering in mid-air, poised to knock again. Instead, he smiled. “Hey! Welcome to the neighborhood. Or, y’know. The building, anyway. I’m Clint. Clint Barton.” Bucky shook his hand and felt like the guy was trying to pump his off. He had a strong grip and calloused palms. 

“Hey. I’m Bucky. I’d, uh… I’d introduce you to Steve, but he’s not here at the moment. Snuck out while I wasn’t looking.”

“No, I didn’t,” he apologized from behind Bucky, offering his excuse around a deep yawn. “I passed out for a while. Nodded right off with my laptop still on my chest.” His eyes were still squinty and bleary and he hadn’t put his reading glasses back on yet. His hair was also a little mashed on one side, and Bucky patted it for a second, watching it spring back, but that didn’t make it look any neater. He also had a pillow crease in his cheek and even his eyebrows looked rumpled. He looked ridiculously cute to Bucky, but he had to give him shit. Just a little.

“When they call it beauty sleep, they lie.” 

Steve shot him a dirty look. “So did whoever it was who told you that you were funny.”

“He’s lying. I’m hilarious.”

Clint shook his head, snickering. “I was sent to deliver this.” He handed Bucky a small, cream-colored envelope with a little gold seal on the back. Their names, “Mr. and Mr. Barnes-Rogers” were written in copperplate script on it, with a girlish flourish. “It’s from Peggy,” Clint said. “She’s having a shindig next week.”

“Shindig?” Steve yawned again, covering his mouth.

“Yeah. A little barbecue in the recreation room. An old friend of hers is back in town. She’s a sweetheart. Apparently she used to be a big deal on the vaudeville circuit and was in the USO. Peggy is having the party to welcome her back, and she wants you two to come, so you can meet the rest of us, since you kind of haven’t, yet.”

“Uh.” Bucky shrugged. “Guess we haven’t.”

“Peggy said you two are a couple of honeymooners.” Clint looked smug. “Don’t get out much, huh? If the bedroom’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’, huh? Huh?” He reached out and smacked Bucky’s upper arm. “Yeahhhhh, that’s why we haven’t seen you guys around!”

“I run a bakery,” Bucky argued. “And this guy, he’s always working or out with his mom.” 

“This guy” was blushing beet red at the suggestion that they were “honeymooners.” Steve bit his lip and folded his arms. “Uh. I’m… gonna go do the dishes.”

“I’m already doin’ ‘em.”

“I’ll go do ‘em again.” He made his escape, and Clint snickered again in his wake.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a total shit, I know. He always that shy?”

“Don’t let the shy act fool you. He’s a smart ass, too.”

“Fantastic! So, you guys gonna come to the barbecue, then?”

“When is it, again?” Bucky popped the gold seal and pulled out the little card, printed on heavy stock. “Saturday at three?”

“Yup. Old folks eat dinner early.”

“Maybe we can see if Steve’s mom wants to come.”

“Hey, the rec room’s pretty big. The more, the merrier.”

“Okay. We can swing that.”

“And it’s potluck.”

“We’ll bring dessert.”

“Right! Yeah, you do that. You own a bakery. Well, hot damn! Can’t wait.” 

“We’ll see you there.”

“Okay. Nice meeting you, Bucky. You too, Steve!” Clint called into their apartment, cupping his hand around his mouth. “I’ll let you two get back to boot knocking, now!”

“Later, Barton…” Bucky was facepalming as he shut the door. He joined Steve in the kitchen, where Steve was drying the dishes Bucky already washed, including the now-clean skillet. His hair was still a wreck, but he was more alert, now.

“I wouldn’t have woke you if I knew you were sleeping.”

“It wasn’t intentional. I just… conked out. I was looking up some references for a sketch I wanted to work on, and my head just hit the pillow.”

“You’ve been staying up too late.”

“Happens, when I have a commission to finish. I don’t have to explain deadlines to you.”

“No. But you could solve that by getting up earlier, not going to sleep later.”

“I get my second wind at night. When Ma has an early appointment, I force myself into bed before eleven, but not by much.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Rogers.”

“But it gets done,” Steve said. “So, what’s in the envelope?”

“Invite to a barbecue.”

“When, again?”

“Saturday. If I tell the girls to close shop for me, we can go. If, y’know. If you want.” Bucky braced himself for the possibility that maybe he wouldn’t want to go. It was the weekend. Steve stayed busy on Saturdays, doing his own laundry and Sarah’s, doing the cleaning that got neglected during the week, making trips to the art and graphic supply shop, going to the gym, and of course, working on his client projects because Steve didn’t know the meaning of “downtime.”

“I wouldn’t mind, if you want to stop by for a little while. I can go pick up Ma, if she’s up to it.”

That gave Bucky pause. “How’s she feeling?”

“Tired. Her doctor wrote her a scrip for some iron pills. Appetite hasn’t been great, either. Nothing tastes right.” That brought back the little divot between Steve’s brows and the tightness around his mouth.

“If you just want to spend time with your mom, instead, that’s fine. We don’t have to-“

“Buck. It’s fine. I wouldn’t mind. Ma wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”

“We wouldn’t have to go for the long.”

“No. We wouldn’t. That’s fine, Buck.”

Bucky pulled a bowl of marinating chicken drumsticks out of the fridge and wiped off the sticky stove top as he prepared to make dinner. “How many more weeks of treatment does she have?”

“Three.”

“That’s not too bad.”

“It’ll be nice to have a break. But then it’s back to the doctor’s, for more lab work and another CT scan. Then we get a verdict of whether Ma has to go back to the drawing board.”

“More chemo?” Bucky’s stomach sank.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Steve’s voice was grim. “Hey, what’re you planning to fix with the chicken?”

“I dunno. We don’t have much. I was just going to fix it so it would be cooked.”

“Wanna make a Costco run?”

“God, no,” Bucky grumbled. “I’m so ready to be inside for the night, Stevie.”

“How about Safeway, then?” Steve went to the counter and grabbed his keys, jingling them experimentally. “I can pick up some potato salad?”

“Ugh… no. Deli potato salad?” Bucky made gagging noises.

“Well, what do you want to pick up?”

“Whatever you want. I wasn’t planning to go.”

“Aw, Buck, c’mon!” Steve rocked in his heels and spun his key ring around his finger. “It’s just a short trip.”

“You haven’t even combed your hair yet. I’m fine, Steve. I’ll just make the chicken.”

“Well, how about if I just pick up ingredients? If you want to make anything else to put with the chicken?”

“That isn’t going to make me want to cook any more than I already have to, pal.”

“Do you just not feel like cooking, then?”

“Not. Much.”

“Then, let me take you out.”

Bucky considered his raw chicken. It stared back up at him. Cooking just sounded so unappealing. Especially when he worked in a kitchen all day.

“C’mon. Let me take my man out on the town.”

Bucky smirked. “I don’t have to slave away in the kitchen like June Cleaver?”

“In a twin set and pearls?” Steve wolf-whistled. “That could get my motor running…”

“Go comb your hair, ya sicko.”

“Actually, I’m gonna shower. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“That’s fine. Give me a minute to freshen up, too.”

The drumsticks went back into the refrigerator and Bucky went back to his room. He felt hot and sticky, and a shower sounded great, but Steve called dibs first. Bucky went to his room and dug into his closet for a decent shirt. He decided to iron a forest green rugby shirt that looked nice with his coloring; Becca gave it to him for his last birthday, and he was only getting around to wearing it now. He took the new ironing board – thanks, Natasha, you little smart aleck – out of the closet and unfolded it. It would come in handy today. Since he was ironing, anyway, he pulled out a pair of black Dickies slacks, slightly nicer than the ones he wore to work. It wasn’t like Steve didn’t lay eyes on him every day, but…

Dinner. Going out for it. With Steve.

It felt like. A date.

His voice of reason poked him. _You were looking at Safeway potato salad and dirtying up your stove five minutes ago, pal. Calm down._ It wasn’t that big of a deal. Roommates went out to dinner. So why couldn’t his pretend husband and he hop into the car and grab a bite to eat? What was the harm?

Why the heck not?

Iago, naturally waited for Bucky to hop into his dark slacks that he’d just ironed to rub against his legs and cover him in cat hair. “Really, girl? You needed lovin’ _right now?_ ”

“Mmmrrrrrt,” she told him, giving him the cat equivalent of a shrug and swiping the edge of her face against his hand. She wasn’t the least bit sorry. Darned cat. But, that’s why lint rollers were invented. 

Except. He left it in the bathroom drawer.

Steve was in the bathroom, and he heard the shower running already. Bucky hoped he really would be quick; his stomach began to growl almost on cue. He knocked on the door for a second. “Hey, Stevie, can I get something out of the drawer for a sec?”

“What do you need, Buck? Can it wait a minute?”

“I’m just gonna reach in real quick, bud, don’t worry about-“

Bucky swung the door open, assuming Steve was already in the tub, behind their opaque shower curtain. He assumed wrong.

The shower was running, filling the bathroom with steam and fogging the mirror. Steve, however, hadn’t immersed himself yet. He was standing at the bathroom vanity, one foot hiked all the way up and propped on it, clipping his toenails with the huge clipper.

Naked as the day he was born.

Steve’s eyes were round with horror and shock. Bucky took in his face. Chest. Bare shoulders. That long, muscular, flexible leg. And Rogers’ dangling parts, which Bucky only got to appreciate for a second before he forced his eyes back up to Steve’s face.

“SHIT!”

“BUCKY!”

“Oh, my God… I’m… SO sorry. I thought you already-“

“I haven’t, yet!”

“Wow, you’re flexible. Okay. Just… I’ll stop looking.”

“Get out! GET OUT!”

“I need the lint roller!” But Bucky’s face was flaming with embarrassment, even with his hand clapped over his eyes. He heard Steve yank open the drawer and rummage in it.

“It’s not even in here, Bucky!”

“I swore I left it in there!”

“Maybe it was the kitchen drawer!?”

Shit.

Right.

“I’ll just… go.”

“Damn it, Barnes!”

The bathroom door slammed after Bucky, and he hurried into the kitchen, needing to compose himself. That wasn’t how Bucky thought the evening was going to start. And now, he had the vision of Rogers in the altogether burned into his eyeballs. 

Every. Perfect. Mouthwatering. Inch.

And he had to sit across from him at the dinner table, in front of other adults.

The damned lint roller was in the kitchen drawer. Because _of course_. Bucky kicked himself for the rest of the time that it took him to get ready. He should have noticed that Steve’s voice wasn’t coming from the shower. But from behind a closed door, it was hard to tell. Bucky finished getting dressed and waited for Steve to come out of the bathroom so he could shave and fix his hair.

Ten minutes later, Steve hurried out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips, still dripping. “All yours, Mr. Impatient.”

“Thanks,” Bucky called back. “Did you put the toenail clipper back in the medicine cabinet?”

“BARNES!”

“That’s where it goes,” Bucky reminded him, trying to cover his lingering embarrassment. His cheeks still felt hot, and he could still feel Steve’s irritation with him. 

“Sure. Right next to the _lint roller_.”

Okay. He had him there.

Bucky brought the lint roller back into the bathroom and returned it to the correct drawer. He hit his face with a puff of shaving foam and gave himself a touch-up, whisking off four days’ worth of stubble. Even though Bucky didn’t mind the feel of a beard, it made him look haggard on a day like today, where he already felt tired. Bucky dampened his hair and hit it with a little product just to shine it up. He combed it and left it down, liking how it felt. 

Steve came and hovered in the doorway, arms folded across his chest as he watched Bucky. “Are you all sparkling clean now? Have you lint-rolled to your satisfaction?”

“Lint-rolling, sure. But I was about to take all my clothes off and give myself a pedicure. I might be a while.”

“Oh, my God. I hate you. Or I would, if you didn’t clean up so pretty.”

“That almost sounds like a… com…pli…ment.” 

Wow. Steve. Cleaned up. Really. Nice.

Steve wore a fitted button-down that matched his eyes and a pair of pleated khakis. He’d shaved, too, and he smelled like citrus. His damp hair still had comb tracks in it, but he worked up a little volume in the front and looked like he was ready to climb onto a yacht and do a photo shoot for overpriced men’s cologne. Bucky’s pretend husband could turn his head.

“Can we eat, now?”

“Lead on, McDuff.”

Steve locked up, and Bucky felt his hand at his lower back, briefly, as they exited their apartment. They saw Clint coming out of his apartment down the hall, and he waved while he fiddled with his dog’s harness and leash.

“Wow! You guys look spiffy! Date night?”

“Date night,” Bucky agreed. “This guy finally decided to unchain me from the stove.”

Steve gave Bucky a little shove, before he threw his arm around his shoulders and pulled him against him. “See how much lip I get from him when I do.” Bucky gave Steve a look, raising a brow. But he didn’t object to the contact. Rogers smelled good.

“You want me to give you more lip, pal?”

Steve’s eyes crinkled at the challenge couched in his words.

“Newlyweds. Peggy was right. You two are mushy together.”

“Nah. Not us,” Steve insisted before he gave Bucky a tiny kiss on the cheek. “We’re not mushy.” Bucky leaned in and rubbed his nose against Steve’s for added effect.

“Of course we’re not, Boo Bear.”

“Oh, my God. You two are _gross_. Just go. Go to dinner.” Clint waved them off, and Steve kept his arm around Bucky as they headed for the elevator. Bucky and Steve shot each other snarky looks as the doors slid shut.

“I’m gonna have fun yanking his chain,” Bucky decided.

“Yup. Gonna be extra mushy around that guy, just because we can.”

“His dog was cute.”

“Iago wouldn’t go for a dog.”

“I didn’t say we needed to run right out and get one. Just that I liked his.”

“I know. I’m just thinking about my best girl’s feelings. And she would be very put out with you if you brought home a dog, Bucky.”

“When did my cat become your best girl?”

“Hate to break it to you, pal…”

“You’re the worst. Honestly. She’s _my_ cat, and therefore, I’m her favorite.”

“Maybe you should inform her of this little theory of yours. And since I’m your _husband_ , she’s technically _my_ cat, too.” Steve looked way too smug.

“Hmmmmph.”

Bucky unlocked the passenger side for Steve first and opened it for him, and Steve smiled. “I thought I was the one taking _you_ on a date.”

“Shut up and let me be a gentleman, Rogers.” Bucky touched Steve’s lower back like Steve had done at the apartment, beckoning to him to climb in. He waited for him to sit down, and Steve shot him a cheesy look.

“So polite!”

“Just buckle up. I’m being charming, here.” Bucky gently closed the door on Steve’s bark of laughter. A few passerby stared at them, and Bucky saluted them as he got in on his side.

Bucky drove them through the mid-evening traffic to a little bistro they both liked. Steve knew the owner, who was just as picky as Steve about organic ingredients, but who also specialized in an allergen-free menu. Steve was still running in “date mode” and stopped to pull Bucky’s chair out for him. Their server smiled broadly at them as she handed them the menus.

“Aw, that’s cute! Nobody does that anymore.”

“This guy does,” Bucky told her.

“You’re a lucky fella,” she told Bucky as she gave his arm a little swat with her checkpad. “Can I get you two anything to drink?”

“Cranberry juice.”

“Ginger ale.”

“Coming up! I’ll give you a minute and come back to take your order.”

“Thank you.” 

“You two are so cute,” she mentioned before she left. “How long have you been together?”

“Uh.”

“Three months.” If _living together because of a fake marriage so we could get a better apartment_ counted as “together,” Bucky would roll with it. And then she noticed his wedding band.

“Newlyweds! Well, that’s awesome! I’ll take good care of you guys! And congratulations!”

When she left, Steve said, “You’re milking this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

“S’fun. I’m having fun. Might as well.”

Steve stared at him over the edge of his menu. “You’re having fun?”

“Well, yeah. It’s… this is nice. Know what the nice thing about being married to you is, right off the bat, Rogers?”

“I fold a mean pair of hospital corners on the bed?”

“No. Close, but no.” Rogers _did_ clean up after himself. Compulsively so. 

“Okay. So, spill.”

“Ever since I told my parents we got married, they stopped trying to fix me up.”

“Oh.” Steve’s eyes flitted away, and he chuckled. “Glad you’re benefitting from this little arrangement of ours, Buck.”

“Hey, trust me. It’s nice. Now, when my mom calls to check in, it’s just ‘How are you and Steve doing? He’s so nice, Bucky. How’s Sarah doing, Bucky? What is he working on these days, Bucky? What’s his favorite food, are you two coming over on Sunday, Bucky?’”

Steve’s face lit up. “Are we going to your parents’ on Sunday?”

“Well, yeah. If you want, you big dork. ‘Course.”

“Can I bring Ma?”

“Mine would be offended if you didn’t.”

“Okay. Sunday.” And Steve took out his phone, fiddling with his calendar and texting Sarah. A tiny smile lingered on his face, which rose a notch when his phone pinged with a reply. “She’ll come. With bells on.”

“Good.”

“She might not want to stay long.”

“That’s okay. Pop has a really nice recliner, even nicer than ours. If she gets too worn out, she can settle in and take a little nap. Whenever Sarah says it’s time to go, it’s time to go. If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t _nobody_ happy.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” But Steve’s smile faded, and he merely nodded his thanks when the server brought their drinks. Sadness darkened his eyes as he took a sip of his cranberry juice. Bucky felt his heart hitch.

“Stevie? Hey… is there anything I can do for you? Or for Sarah?”

“I’m feeling a little worn out. That’s nothing new, Buck.”

“I know it’s not ‘new.’ But… I just thought I’d ask.” Bucky stirred his ginger ale with his straw, watching the bubbles rise to the surface and pop. “I think about you two a lot.”

“You’ve got a front row seat for it, I guess.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just… I worry about her, too. I really like your mom.” Bucky tried to tease a smile out of him. “She puts me in my place.”

It worked. “It’s what she lives for.”

“Has she always been that feisty?”

“She had to be. Taking care of me wore her out. I don’t know where she found the energy.”

“You were probably an easy kid,” Bucky argued. “Boy Scout like you?”

“I wish. I was always sick. Mono. Rheumatic fever. I have a janky heart valve. Asthma. I still get allergy shots. Had an ulcer back in high school. It still acts up every now and again.”

“You had an ulcer as a kid?” 

“Yup.”

“Guess that’d make you pretty picky about your food, then.”

Steve nodded, looking thoughtful. “It kinda helps to be. I’m not… I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, okay? I know when I come in to the bakery, and I order things, it might seem like I have nothing better to do than give you a hard time about the stuff you make. I’ve just learned to be vigilant about what I put into my body. And I guess I got a little more compulsive about it when Ma developed cancer.”

“You’re not a pain in the ass.”

“Sure, I am.”

“No.” Bucky’s tone was insistent. He leaned forward and laid his hand over Steve’s across the table. “Look… I get a little precious about my business and my baking. It’s an ego thing. Just ask Nat and Sharon. I’m lucky that they put up with me as much as I do. I’m picky about the details, too. I don’t want anyone to be disappointed when they come into my bakery. I don’t want anyone to be disappointed with _me_. And, y’know, Stevie… it’s funny. Sometimes, I’d measure my day and how well it went by your trips to get muffins, or lemon bars. If I was on my game, you’d only give me a _little_ shit about what you bought. If you told me my cranberry bars were too crumbly, I knew I had to step my game up.”

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a punk.”

“I’ll probably regret it, and I know I’m giving you a big, fat head by telling you this, but I like coming to your place. At first, I just liked it because it was close to Ma’s appointments. I’ll be honest, though. It has warmth.”

Bucky felt fuzzy tingles wash over him under the praise. He caressed Steve’s knuckle with his thumb. “Quit sitting here trying to get me to like you.”

“It ain’t working even a little?”

“Epic fail, pal.” Steve tilted his hand, though, and curled his fingers around Bucky’s.

“Guess I’ll just have to step my game up, then.”

Butterflies. Why the hell did Bucky suddenly have butterflies in his stomach? Bucky stared down at their linked hands, and it shook him that he didn’t want to let go. “And I ain’t a quitter, Buck.”

Before Bucky could even gather his own thoughts – Rogers’ expression and his comfortable, warm grip on him was making it hard to think - the server came to take their order. Their hands sprang apart and Bucky ordered the chicken, since that was what he was in the mood for, in the first place. Steve decided on the salmon and a salad. When they handed her back the menus and she rushed off to the kitchen, Steve’s cheeks were flushed. 

Bucky wasn’t in much better shape. His were burning, all the way up to the tops of his ears.

But the moment disappeared. They ate companionably and chatted about the basics. Work. Parents. Plans for the coming weekend. But the tension lived between them, filling both their minds with questions.

Their server arrived with their check, and with a small dessert plate. It was a beautiful slice of dark chocolate fudge cake, garnished with thick whipped cream and chocolate shavings. She set it down in front of them with a little “Ta-daaaaaa!”

“What’s this?” Steve looked pleased. Bucky suppressed a shrug; he could bake that well with one hand tied behind his back.

“A little treat for our newlyweds. On the house.”

Steve beamed. “That was sweet.”

“Thank you, kiddo.”

“You’re welcome. Just bring up the check to the front cashier when you’re ready. Enjoy.”

One plate. Two forks.

Steve smirked, eyes crinkling at the corners. “This feels a lot like Lady and the Tramp, right about now.”

“Wanna get a to-go box?”

“Oh, yeah.”

 

*

On the way back to their own unit, they stopped at Barton’s apartment, knocked, and handed him the plastic box of untouched cake. “Here ya go,” Bucky told him. “Wasn’t mine. But I work with cake every day.”

“And he’s ruined me for anyone else’s,” Steve added. 

Bucky tried and failed to hide his pleased little smile. He gave Steve a little shove.

“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna like having you two as neighbors.”

*

 

Saturday.

That meant a trip to Costco for groceries and a decent bottle of wine, over Bucky’s protest that they could just go to Safeway.

“There are better bargains here, Buck.”

“Not when you consider the gas to get here.”

“Will ya quit yer whining?” Steve flashed his membership card at the cute older lady as Bucky selected one of the oversize shopping carts.

“The ceiling fans give me a headache. And I hate crowds.”

“How do the ceiling fans give you a headache?”

“Watching the reflection of the blades spinning on the concrete floor. It’s a shiny floor. And the flickering of the shadows over head.”

Steve frowned and touched Bucky’s shoulder. “Do you get migraines?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then, we’ll try to make it quick.” Steve pulled the cart along and they bustled their way through the shoppers to look at the meat and produce aisles. Steve selected a mid-priced bottle of pinot. Bucky filled a plastic bag with a generous number of fuji apples, piquing Steve’s interest. 

“What’re you making?”

“Something to take to Mom’s tomorrow.”

Steve looked expectant. “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Aw!”

“Cool your jets, ya big baby.”

“ _You’re_ the baby.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not.”

“Are, too. And you’re a big, stinky secret keeper.”

“You’re about to take yourself out of dessert, wise guy. I’m telling your mother.”

“Ooooh. You play dirty.” Okay. It wasn’t a hollow threat. Bucky took note.

They made it through the store, only pausing briefly to browse some of the impulse items. Bucky bought a copy of _Frozen_ on DVD for his niece. Steve bought his mom the socks he’d contemplated on his last trip. Three pairs, printed with sushi, cats, and bumblebees. “Ma likes socks.”

“Stylin’.”

“Her feet get cold year ‘round. When you’re on chemo, you get sensitive to the cold. No drinking things with ice cubes or eating stuff straight out of the fridge.”

“So, no ice cream, then?”

“Nnnnnnnope.”

“Man, that _sucks_.”

“I know. It’s the little things. Ma’s got enough things making her ache and feel sick. The worst part is, she just can’t get comfortable.”

“Does she have decent pain pills?”

“She’s tried all of ‘em. Dilaudid, baclofen, norco, muscle relaxers…” Steve rattled off a long list of meds that made Bucky a little lightheaded just thinking about them.

“I’ve been on half of those. Some of ‘em make me loopy, like the norco.”

“Ma, too. Didn’t help. Tried pot. That at least gave her appetite a boost. Acupuncture didn’t do anything.”

“I just…” Bucky sighed and tugged on his hair, letting his hand dangle into the cart where he was leaning on it. Frustration shone in his eyes when Steve met them. “I’m so sorry she has to struggle. I wish she felt well.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve perused the packs of chicken wings. “You and me both, buddy. Hey, they have pot stickers on special.” He nodded at the woman dressed in a hair net, apron and gloves dishing up samples as she took them out of the microwave. Bucky focused on Steve, avoiding looking up at the ceiling or the floor while they snacked on samples in each aisle. The mini cream puffs were a yes; the bitter-tasting pomegranate juice cocktail was a hard no. They decided on the chicken wings and a bottle of steakhouse marinade, a big fruit salad, and the wine. They stood in line behind about five customers hauling big dollies of bulk goods, which made Bucky restless. He felt a headache building in his temples and began to deepen his breathing through his nose and diaphragm. Steve noticed and reached out tentatively to rub his back.

“Okay. I owe you a solid. We made my Costco trip. Next time, your pick.”

“Awwwwww. You’re sooooooo sweeeeeeet.” Bucky reached out and squooshed Steve’s cheeks. “And cuuuuuuuuuuuuute.” Steve sputtered and swatted at his hand. “Ooh. Your cheeks are soft.”

“Will ya quit it!? Keep your hands to yourself, Barnes.”

Even though he wanted no such thing. Steve wouldn’t admit that he craved those casual, playful touches. And other things that he was afraid to name. They unloaded their goods onto the conveyor belt when it was their turn. They made their escape into the fresh air before Bucky’s headache could fully bloom.

*

 

They headed down to the party after a quick call to Sarah to see if she was up for it. She assured them that she planned to take a nap and get caught up on old _The Sopranos_ reruns and told them to have a good time. The rec room was on the ground floor of the apartment, with a small patio out back through a set of glass doors. A modest number of residents hovered around the appetizer table. Peggy had the room decorated in Fourth of July decorations, even though it was already late mid-autumn.

“Wow, this looks… fun,” Steve mused as they carried their offerings over and set them down. Clint nodded from where he stood by the small stereo, which was playing some old music. Count Basie’s Orchestra, if Bucky had it right. His grandfather had some of his old records. The stereo was wired into a small smartphone with a Spotify display lighting up the screen.

“Gabriel’s nephew is so good with all this newfangled technology.” Peggy appeared behind them, and she was flanked by a handsome older Black man with a peppery beard. He was in excellent shape, with just a hint of love handles, and he wrapped his arm around Peggy’s slightly stooped shoulders. “I was hoping you two would show up!”

“Thanks for the invitation.” 

“You’re certainly welcome, James. Ooo, you’ve brought us wine! Bless you! Just set it over there.” The drink table was already well stocked with alcohol, and there was an open cooler of soda in the corner. 

“Were they having a holiday clearance at the party store?” Steve nodded to the decorations.

“No. It’s festive. But I also wanted my dearest Angie to feel welcome. This is a lot like her old stage set for her routines on the USO circuit.”

“She could get the men out of their seats.” The man who Bucky assumed was Peggy’s husband reached out and shook their hands. “Gabriel Jones. This lovely lady’s lesser half.”

“Oh, stop.” Peggy reached up and pulled his chin down to give him a sweet peck, red lipstick and all. “Still ridiculous after all these years, but I love this man.”

“And it’s absolutely saccharine. Two of you are gonna throw the rest of us into sugar shock, English,” a raspy feminine voice called out from the corridor. Peggy turned and beamed, and she hurried over to pull her inside. 

“This is Angie Martinelli!”

“Pleased ta meetcha, boys.” Angie winked at them as she accepted Peggy’s side hug. “Lord, it’s a shame you boys are too young…”

“ANGIE!”

“What? It is!” She sidled up to Steve and looped her arm through his. “Look at those baby blues! And those dimples! He ain’t lacking for muscle, either. Has anyone snapped you up, buddy?”

“Indeed,” Peggy told her with a grin. “That young man beside him.”

Bucky was so busy enjoying Steve’s embarrassment that he forgot he was supposed to speak up, himself.

“That fella’s my husband.”

“Oh, well I beg your pardon, then, chickadee. And that’s too bad, because that means your both off the market.” She patted Steve’s chest, though, and muttered up to him “Maybe in our next life, Romeo.”

But Steve just rolled with it. “You’re gonna hafta step up your game, Buck.”

Angie winked at him again. “Don’t you know it.”

The rec room filled up, and they slowly got to know their neighbors. Clint’s wife, Bobbi, was a private investigator. Clint told them all that their dog, Lucky, gave them his sad face when they left him back up in the apartment.

“He knows he’s missing out on good food,” Clint explained.

“He spoils that darned dog,” Bobbi said, rolling her eyes. Clint stole a chicken wing off her plate, earning himself a dirty look.

“What? Sharing is caring.”

“Go care about someone else.” Clint snorted, almost inhaling his bite of chicken into the wrong pipe.

Wanda and Pietro were new to the complex, too. They were siblings, both on a work visa, and Bucky and Steve learned that Erik, one half of Charles and Erik from the bakery, was their father. Erik became a citizen long before he married Charles, but it had been a long, arduous process. (“Worth it,” Erik had told them. “Worth every damned minute.”) They fell in love at time when it was dangerous and seldom spoken of, and that love lasted a lifetime. 

“I pass your bakery all the time, on the way to work. Early in the morning. I always smell the fresh bread coming up through your air vents,” Wanda admitted.

“Well, you’ll have to come in and try it, some time.”

“Do you give a good neighbor discount?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me for a discount?” Bucky groused.

“I don’t even get one, and I’m family.” Steve gave Bucky a pointed look over the edge of his fruit salad.

“You do, too! Punk.”

“Jerk. I’ve gotta give you shit.”

He did.

“He’s the only one allowed.”

“Okay, _now_ he’s lyin’. Nat and Sharon would wash out your mouth with soap for implying they aren’t allowed, too.”

“My bakers,” Bucky explained. “But at least they _work_ there. This guy just comes in, eats my goodies, and gives me a hard time.”

Steve waggled his eyebrows. “I’m your husband. I’m _supposed_ to enjoy your goodies.”

Wanda clapped her hand over her mouth and flushed bright red. Pietro turned away and sipped his beer, but he was smirking against the lip of the bottle.

Bucky wanted to hide in a corner.

*

They had a good time. Steve was chatting up Emma and Ororo, who both taught at a private academy out on Long Island and lived on the second floor, when Peggy clapped her hands. 

“All right. Gather ‘round, everyone! This isn’t just a barbecue!”

“Uh-oh. I hope this isn’t like that movie, Clue,” Clint murmured. “Where Mr. Body turns up dead in the next room.”

“Hush,” Bobbi hissed.

“Angie was kind enough to agree with me to give all of you a dance lesson.”

“Ooooo!” Ororo looked enthused, squeezing Emma’s arm.

“I didn’t wear the right shoes for this,” Emma told her wife.

“Just kick them off, then.”

“Lots of you came with partners,” Angie said. “Perfect!”

“Oh. Boy.” That was Steve.

“Whatsamatter, Rogers?”

“I. Uh. Don’t. Dance.”

Bucky bit his lip. Oh, this was gonna be _rich._

Within minutes, Angie was coaching everyone on form. “Okay. Stand up straight, did your mother ever tell ya not to slouch? No floppy arms. Hand on her _upper_ back, be a gentleman!” Then she pulled Peggy away from Gabe’s side, grinning with devilment.

“Oh, good Lord… Angie. Seriously. You _can’t._ ”

“Oh, yes I can, English. Come to Mama. You know the old moves.” She waved impatiently at Gabe. “Play us something with some swing, Jonesie!”

And the other couples politely moved back to give them room while the two women, still spry, did a stately fox trot.

“Slow-slow, quick-quick, that’s how it’s done, kids.” She patted Peggy’s back, and Peggy rolled her eyes but gave her a fond, indulgent smile. “My old girl here knows how it’s done.”

“I should, after how many nights of you nagging me to rehearse with you?”

“Once you get these two started, they’ll be at it all night,” Gabe mused, sighing. 

“Hey, you were a great partner,” Angie said. “Instead of being out on the field, you coulda been up on the stage, English.”

“You always had the legs for it,” Peggy told her. “That was your place to shine, not mine.”

“You’ve still got gams. In the meantime, kids, look at this. See where her hand is? Up on my shoulder? Do that.”

And slowly, every one was doing the fox trot with varying levels of skill. Bobby kept scolding Clint every time he looked down at their feet, but he got the hang of it. Bruce and Betty stumbled a little, before he eventually sat the next one out. “Time for wine,” he remarked.

“Waltz. We’ll show you a waltz, buddy,” Angie promised.

He raised his plastic cup of wine to her before taking a sip.

“Okay, let’s check out you two. Gabe, come and cut in,” Angie said as she left Peggy and scooted over to Bucky and Steve.

“I have no clue what I’m doing,” Steve admitted.

He wasn’t lying. Poor guy was red as a beet and his palm was sweating. He was stiff and was just following Bucky, even though he was supposed to be leading. 

“It’s okay. You’re getting it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Because, Bucky could actually dance. His steps were smooth and measured, and he’d been chanting “slow-slow, quick-quick as they moved. And he occasionally gave direction. “Left. Left, Stevie…”

“Oh, God… don’t let me run anyone over, Barnes.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You never had to learn dance in junior high phys ed?”

“Square dancing. That was a joke.”

“Well, this ain’t that, buddy.”

“Oh, you’re doing fine! Nice posture, boys, but come in a little closer. Keep those nice strong arms. And they are nice and strong. You get to have this big guy hold you every night?” Angie poked Bucky and winked. “Come on, now. Let’s put inappropriate thoughts into his head.”

“Uh.”

“Wait…”

“There we go. Loosen those hips.” She swatted Steve’s butt, and Bucky didn’t think the poor guy could blush any redder. “There we go. That’s nice. Smile. You’ve got all the reason to smile, look at him. Look at that face. That’s a man in love, isn’t it?” She called over her shoulder. “Look at these two, Pegs! Aren’t they cute?”

Steve wanted to sink into the floor, and he tightened his hold on Bucky. “Okay. Wanna die, now…”

“You’re doing fine.”

“Only a few months in the apartment, and now I’ll never be able to show my face in front of the neighbors again.”

“Are you kidding? I hope they’re live posting this on Facebook.”

“Bucky…”

“Kidding, kidding!” But they made another turn around the room, and Bucky could tell it was getting easier for him. “You are getting the hang of it.”

“Kind of.” Bucky’s hand was warm. Bucky could feel Steve’s blazing against his back through his shirt. He smelled like his aftershave and deodorant.

“Just for fun, guys, this is how you dip!” Angie once again used Peggy has her partner. Ororo and Emma managed a surprisingly graceful one, to a round of applause.

Steve had a mischievous look in his eye, and Bucky shook his head, horror dawning on his face.

“Rogers! Rogers, don’t! Don’t you dare!”

“Just for fun, Buck.”

“SHIT!” And Steve tipped him back so quickly that his whole world skewed off balance. He brought him back up just as quickly, pulling him against his body.

Bucky felt laughter bubble out of his chest. “Rogers, you asshole!”

“That was good, let’s go again!”

“Stevie… don’t you… DARE!”

Clint and Bruce cackled from the drink table. Bobbi and Betty gave up on them both and took a trip around the floor but skipped the dip. Steve held Bucky in the dip long enough for him to get lightheaded, and Bucky was struck by the strength in those arms, well corded with muscle, and his snug grip on his hand. “Let me up!” Bucky was laughing, but he could feel the blood rushing into his face.

And he saw Steve smiling down at him, eyes gleaming. 

“Oh, somebody get a picture,” Angie insisted.

“No!” Bucky cried.

“Yes!” Peggy called out. She managed to work her phone quickly, and Bucky felt the flash hit them. 

“Oh, God…”

“Gorgeous! I love this.”

“Send that one to me, English.”

Steve brought Bucky up, and his hair flopped in his face from the momentum. “You’re the worst.” Steve was still holding him, and Bucky tried to push him off, but Steve snickered at him, laughing into Bucky’s shoulder.

“The look on your face was worth it.”

“Sure, it was, Rogers.”

“Nope. _You’re_ Rogers. Ginger Rogers.”

“Not with these shoes.”

They were still holding onto each other. Bucky’s hand was curled around Steve’s shoulder, and they were leaning into each other, forgetting about dance stance completely. Bucky was aware of Steve’s closeness and the way he was focusing on Bucky, too. Bucky was panting a little and licked his lips. They were dry. Steve’s eyes tracked the gesture, then shifted back to Bucky’s. 

…they were dilated. That was. Interesting.

Before Bucky could ponder it, Steve leaned in and kissed him. Bucky groaned under the hard, hot press of his mouth, stroking his and lighting up every nerve in Bucky’s body.

“Hello, there,” Angie murmured.

“Oh, my,” Peggy agreed

The kiss didn’t want to end. Everything around them fell away for precious seconds. Bucky gave himself up to it and tilted his face, opening for him. A little thrill ran through him when Steve’s – his husband’s – tongue swept inside and tasted him.

“That’s the kinda behavior that’ll get ya into trouble,” Angie said as she sipped the cup of wine that Peggy handed to her.

“Let’s hear it for bad behavior.” Peggy looked pleased while she sipped her own wine.

They came up for air, and Steve looked dazed. His lips were rosy and puffy from the kiss, and he cleared his throat. “Next time, you lead, Barnes.”

“Dunno, Stevie. Think you managed it just fine.”

“Spare the rest of us having to move out of the way, Barnes,” Clint told them. “Next time, you lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably no dipping in the fox trot. Don't judge me.


	10. All the Trimmings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretend husbands. Christmas shopping. Christmas dinner. And a medical emergency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to this. Thanks for reading. Lyrics cited from “Winter Wonderland.” Quotes from “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” cited from Dr. Seuss.
> 
> Additional Note: I hate Christmas carols as much as Bucky does.

Bucky poked Nat in her side when he caught her scrolling through her phone again between batches of muffins. “Quit it. Save it for your break.”

“Okay,” she muttered. “Sheesh. I’m just checking the special deals on Amazon.”

“Don’t feel like braving the mall?”

“And get trampled by the rabble?” Natasha made a sour face. “I’m not enough of a people person to make that sacrifice.”

“Amazon, though?” Bucky smirked at her. “You’ll have a bunch of those green-labeled ‘Prime’ boxes lying around the house. That’s romantic.”

“It’s no less romantic than getting Sharon another crappy gift. I _suck_ at buying gifts for my fiancée.” Her pout almost made Bucky pity her. Almost.

“At least you have some inkling of what she likes. What do you even buy your pretend husband for Christmas?”

That brightened her mood. Natasha giggled at his expense. “Oh, my God, I forgot about that! Your first Christmas as newlyweds!” 

“Oh, that’s a Polaroid moment waiting to happen,” Sharon chimed in as she came out of the walk-in refrigerator with a cube of butter. She’d missed the earlier part of the conversation, to Nat’s relief. To Bucky’s dismay, however, she began to _sing_. “In the meadow we can build a snowman! And pretend that he is Parson Brown!”

“NO! I’m begging you, please don’t!” Bucky clapped his hands over his ears and tried to escape, but Sharon and Nat gleefully followed him out of the kitchen into the front serving area.

“He'll say are you married,  
We'll say no, man!  
But you can do the job  
When you're in town!”

Both of them practically bellowed the lyrics at him, and to his horror, some of his patrons sitting at tables chimed in. “PLEASE don’t!” he cried, making cross gestures with this fingers to ward off the singing, but it didn’t help. Bucky mimed being stabbed in the heart, but his customers laughed at his pain. 

“Oh, the humanity!” he sobbed. “Betrayed my own people!”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Sharon chided as she swatted him with an oven mitt. “So. What’s the plan with Hubby for Christmas?”

“Quit calling him that,” Bucky muttered, even though the endearment was growing on him. “We got roped into doing it at our place this year. His mom’s coming over, and Becca and my parents are planning to show up. Steve wants to put up a tree.”

“Oh, this, I have to see!” Natasha crowed. “Have you told him about prior Christmases where you tried to put up a tree?”

“They weren’t even that bad,” Bucky argued under his breath. “Go. Do something useful. Ice something. Go knead some dough.” He walked back into the kitchen with Nat and Sharon in tow.

“Remember the time he set the tree on fire?”

“You have to actually water it, Bucky. That keeps it green, not brown…”

“And the lights wouldn’t stop blinking, that one year…”

“And that one year that he unwrapped the candy canes before he hung them, and the whole tree was covered in ANTS!”

“Yeah, yeah. Keep yukking it up. Your laughter will cover up the sound of me tearing up your Christmas bonuses.” Bucky held his hand to his ear. Natasha and Sharon squelched their giggles, holding onto each other’s arms and making lip-buttoning motions. “Oh, what’s that? Sure got quiet in here…”

They exploded into giggles.

“Remember how he had to spray the whole tree with Raid?!?” 

“That… that’s not… okay. Fuck you both,” he muttered as he went back to his muffins.

“Bucky… awwwww, c’mon!” Natasha crowded him and gave his arm a little shake. “You know we were only playin’…”

Sharon pouted at him and gave him her patented Puppy Dog Eyes, letting her lip quiver. “Don’t you give me that look,” Bucky warned. “It won’t work on me.”

“Keep doing it, it’s working,” Nat told her. Sharon turned up the volume on her look and threw in praying hands.

“Gads, you’re shameless. Terrible. Why do I let you two work here again?”

“Okay.” Natasha rubbed his arm soothingly. “We’ll be nice. Less teasing, anyway.”

“Do something constructive,” he grumbled. He didn’t fight it when Sharon turned on her Michael Buble CD of Christmas hits. At least it wasn’t Mariah Carey or Bing Crosby, because Bucky had limits. 

Despite the rigors of the holiday, business in the bakery was booming. His customers loved his pumpkin spice and peppermint lattes and his windowpane cookies, which were selling faster than he could make them. So was the iced gingerbread with cinnamon buttons; the fragrance brought him more foot traffic. Charles and Erik wiled away many an hour out front, playing chess with a miniature board and tiny pieces as they enjoyed their tea and scones. Both of them were bundled to the teeth against the cold; Charles had a bright red, plaid fleece blanket wrapped around his lap. Every time they prepared to go, Erik tucked him into it more snugly. They fussed and nagged each other out of long habit. It amused Bucky, and it made him feel wistful.

Sharon and Nat were right, as much as Bucky hated to admit it: He sucked at Christmas.

It was just so _stressful_. It was different when Bucky still lived at home. His mother’s Christmas tree was impeccable every year. Long spirals of wired, gold-edged ribbon flowing down from the top of the tree down to the floor. All of the handmade ornaments that Bucky and Becca made at school or at camp over the years. Perfect sets of snowflakes and French horns, angels and drums, everything in perfectly coordinating colors. The tree skirt was made of rich, cranberry red corduroy and trimmed in white fake fur. Winifred Barnes put Martha Stewart to shame. 

George was a stickler for a fresh, hand-cut tree every year, despite Becca’s rumblings that it would be more sustainable to get a potted, live tree, and Bucky’s suggestion that they could get a prelit, artificial tree and spray it with pine scent if Winifred needed the full seasonal effect. Going out to choose the tree was an ordeal in and of itself, but that was a family tradition, too. George inevitably kept them out too long, giving each tree a shake, checking for birds’ nests, trying to get the biggest tree that he could that would still fit in the door once they got it home. The tallest tree they brought home nearly touched their vaulted ceiling. George couldn’t accomplish this without his grown children and long-suffering wife in attendance, stomping their feet to force feeling back into their frozen toes. Bucky only enjoyed drives up to the snow if he didn’t have to get out of the car.

Steve and Bucky were hosting dinner, which meant Bucky didn’t have to suffer through the tree cutting this year. But in the meantime, he had to deal with _Steve_.

Lord help him.

Steve _loved_ Christmas. Steve was an absolute stickler for it, ate, slept, breathed and lived yuletime tidings. Bucky tiptoed around the subject for a few days, unsure how to break the news to him that they were hosting dinner.

“Hope you and your mom have a good recipe for Christmas ham,” he mentioned casually while he was washing the dishes. Steve looked up from a graphic novel that he was reading and craned himself around in his chair at the kitchen table, letting his arm dangle over the back. 

“Recipes? Why? What’s up?” Was that excitement Bucky heard in his voice?

“Well… I might’ve let my mom talk me into hosting it this year. Since I have a bigger living room than I did before. And Mom said she wouldn’t mind if you and I ‘took the reins’ for a change.” Bucky made finger quotes around it and steeled himself for Steve’s groan of annoyance, which never came.

Instead, his eyes lit up. “Christmas dinner? Does your mom usually do a brunch, too?”

“Uh. Yeah. Kind of.” Bucky cringed at the thought of being responsible for _two_ meals with his family, Steve, and Sarah. “I just figured we would do a dinner, though-“

“Aww, Buck! It’s not the same! We need to make a day out of it! Are you kidding? We have to wear pajamas with reindeer on them and drink cocoa with candy canes while we open the gifts!”

“We usually do gifts after dinner,” Bucky told him. “Wren’s old enough now that we let her hand out the presents.” They’d attended his niece’s birthday party, and Wren, cranky after a sugar crash, refused to come out of the bounce house. Becca made the mistake of sending Bucky and Steve in after her to bring her out, and they all stayed inside it, lured by its charms. Wren called Steve “Uncle Steve,” now, something which tickled the big goof absolutely pink. 

“She can still do that.” Steve set aside his copy of _Chew_ , a book that Bucky admitted was entertaining but a little gross for his taste. “I’d love to have her participate! This is going to be great!”

“Can we skip the breakfast, though? I don’t have the stamina for two meals and a whole day of family crammed into our living room, Stevie.”

“Well… y’know what? That’s fine. It’s… I’ll meet you halfway.”

“Well, yeah.” Bucky had another thought. “Want to spend some time at your mom’s in the morning?”

“We’ll see what she’s up for.” Sarah had finished another cycle of chemo and was getting her strength back. Her legs still occasionally gave out, but she was using a four-wheeled walker with a fold-out bench. Her hair came back as downy, graying peach fuzz, so she still wore her lightweight knitted beanies, but her color was good. She was getting back some of her usual starch, which Steve had sorely missed. 

And Bucky was fretting more than ever with the prospect of giving his mother-in-law the special Christmas she deserved. Steve had a difficult year, what with having to sell his childhood home and all of its memories, caring for his mother during her illness, and, as much as Bucky hated to admit it, settling for a marriage of convenience for show, just to afford rent on a decent apartment. A marriage to _Bucky_. Bucky’s ego wasn’t so inflated that he wouldn’t admit that he was compulsive. Maybe a little “high maintenance” at times. “Picky.” Then again, so was Steve, about different things. Yet somehow, they managed. Bucky was getting used to Steve’s brand of crazy, and if he didn’t know better, Steve didn’t seem to have a problem with Bucky’s brand of crazy, either. At least, not a _big_ problem. Maybe not in so many words.

Anyway.

Christmas. Steve was game. That helped.

“Let me know what she likes, Stevie. Any recipes she has, anything that’s her favorite, or your favorite. Bring ‘em on over.”

“That sounds good, Buck.”

Easier said than done.

Steve dragged Bucky back to Costco to stock their freezer. One enormous spiral ham. String beans. Cranberries. Frozen berries. Ice cream. Steve tried to grab Cool Whip, but Bucky had to draw the line. His husband had the good grace to look sheepish when he put it back. The refrigerator and cabinets were stuffed full of ingredients for two casseroles and three desserts. Bucky’s mind reeled at the thought of washing the dishes once dinner was finished.

Steve, ever the obsessive planner, kept a shopping list on the big white board calendar on the wall that he usually used for Sarah’s appointments. He even kept _dates_ that certain stores were having their holiday sales, with entries like “Target, women’s socks for Ma.” Steve even clipped Michaels’ coupons out of the weekly circular in the paper. Bucky cringed at the damage that he knew Steve could do in that store. Bucky was guilty of Michaels binges, too, but he exercised self-control during the holidays, keeping himself on a short tether until the after Christmas sales. Becca’s favorite story to tell over beer was The Great Wilton Baking Aisle Scuffle of 1999. It wasn’t pretty.

It was hard to catch a break. Bucky opened up shop at the crack of dawn and didn’t make it home most nights before seven, due to holiday traffic and errands. Bucky had also resumed physical therapy for his arm; his shoulder was killing him, lately, and the cold weather crept into his joints, making them throb. Bucky caught Steve throwing him that tight-lipped, worried look whenever he caught Bucky popping a Percocet.

“I need them to sleep. Don’t judge me.”

“M’not. I know you need ‘em.”

“Then don’t look at me like that. Okay?”

“Okay, Buck.”

Maybe he wasn’t judging him. Maybe Steve was just worried. But still…

Bucky was carrying so much on his shoulders. It was no wonder his left one didn’t like him at the moment.

*

 

Natasha, true to her word, had Sharon’s Christmas gifts delivered to the bakery so she would be less likely to peek in the boxes. Not that it helped. 

“Uh-uh! Noooooooo, you don’t!” he called across the kitchen when he caught Sharon snooping in the back storage room, where Nat had snuck her latest Prime box and covered it with a plastic tarp. Sharon dropped it like a hot potato when he startled her.

“Shit!”

“Hope that wasn’t breakable, kiddo. Now, out! MARCH!”

“But-“

“No. OUT.”

“Awwwww!” Sharon stomped her foot and pouted, but Bucky pointed with a sharp, grand flourish in the direction of the kitchen.

“No peeking! I’m more afraid of your future wife than I am of you.”

Sharon tsked. “Phooey.”

“Where are you hiding her gifts?”

“If I tell you, you have to keep your piehole shut about it.”

Bucky snickered. Baking puns. It was a part of the job that he loved.

While Nat was out front, the two of them crept back into Bucky’s office, and Sharon took her copy of the key to the office safe and unlocked it. “It’s in here.” She pulled out a slim, gray velvet box. It was a sapphire tennis bracelet, Nat’s birthstone. The jewels glittered and winked up at Bucky, and he touched the delicate settings appreciatively.

“It’s pretty. She’ll flip her lid.”

“Keep quiet about it, okay?” Sharon closed it and locked it back up. “It cost a grip. I know it’s reaching a little, but I wanted to get her something special.”

“She loves everything that you get her,” Bucky told her. “Shoot, she’s been wracking her brain trying to figure out what to get you.”

Sharon’s face softened. “That big goof. I love everything she gets me. Because she gets me, and because it comes from _her_. She knows that. I loved my Bulbasaur that she got me last year.” It was a big, tacky stuffed plush, because Sharon had a secret love of Pokemon collectibles. “I don’t want her to go to a big fuss trying to figure out what to get.”

“Give her hints. Leave notes around the house. Circle ads in Sharpie pen.”

“That’s tacky.”

“Yet, effective.”

“True.”

They exited his office and turned off the light, just in time for Natasha to hurry back and announce, “I need two more trays of gingerbread men, stat! The natives are restless!”

What Bucky failed to admit to Sharon was that he still needed to find a gift for _Steve_.

*

Calling Sam didn’t help.

“No, I don’t know what you should buy for your ‘pretend husband,’” Sam scolded.

“You suck.” Bucky stirred the pot of butternut squash soup, tasted it, and grated in some more parmesan. “C’mon, Sam, throw me a bone, here.”

“Nope. You’re on your own. You got yourself into this mess.”

“What, getting my husband a gift?”

“No. Getting yourself a _husband_ without doing your homework first. This is what happens when you take the shirt home without trying it on first.”

Bucky laughed bitterly. “Don’t think Steve would appreciate you calling him a purchase I regret.”

“Do you?”

Bucky’s hand froze over the pot, spoon hovering over the orange broth. “Well… no. It’s… it’s complicated. God, Wilson, I don’t even know.”

“You like him, don’t you?”

“He’s not hard to like,” Bucky murmured. “He’s really not.”

“Lord…” Bucky heard Sam rolling his eyes through the phone. “Okay. This is a clusterfuck. And y’all have _how_ much longer on the lease?”

“Eight months.”

Sam chuckled. “Wow. Gotta admit it, Barnes. Never thought the two of you would get this far. You’re the Odd Couple. Figured you would’ve killed each other by now.”

“You haven’t even met him.”

“I can picture him whenever you tell me what he’s done that’s either got you wanting to punch him or jump his bones.” 

“I don’t want-! WILSON! C’mon. I do _not_ want to jump his bones!”

Bucky heard the jiggle of Steve’s keys in the lock and dropped the spoon back into the soup, splashing the scalding, thick broth over his knuckles. “GAHHH!”

“Barnes, what the hell are you doing?”

“FUCK!”

Steve’s footsteps thudded across the living room. “What’re you doing in there, Buck?”

“Burning the crap outta my hand. Mmmm…” He hummed as he drew the offending knuckle into his mouth to suck off the source of the burn, then blew on it to cool it. Steve’s brows drew together in his best “Do I Have to Save You from Yourself?” look, and he felt that large, warm hand against his lower back.

“Gotta be more careful. I leave you alone for five minutes and let you use the stove unsupervised.” Bucky glared both at Steve’s words and Sam’s laughter in his ear where it was still pressed to the phone with equal fire. 

“He’s got your number, Barnes.”

“Why are we friends again, Wilson?”

“Go play with your pretend husband.” With that, Sam rang off. His expression was indignant. Steve’s lips twisted as Bucky chucked his phone onto the counter and rushed to the sink. He cranked the cold water from the tap and dashed his hand under it.

“What’d you do?” Steve asked.

“Stupid soup…”

“Y’know, when you put a pot of something over a hot burner like that, it makes it _hot_ , right?”

“Laugh it up, buddy boy. You’re about to shit-talk your way outta dinner.”

Steve pouted at him. “Even when I come bearing good news?”

“What might that be?”

Steve waved an envelope at him. “Christmas bonus.”

“Ooooooooooh. Nice.” One with three zeros after it, Bucky noticed. “Merry Christmas to you.”

“And to _you_.”

“Pfffft… whatever, Rogers. Go have fun with it.”

“Um, I plan to. And you’re gonna be right there having fun with me.” Steve tucked the check into his jacket pocket and leaned over Bucky, staring down at his hand. “Got yourself pretty good,” he tsked, and his hand drifted to Bucky’s back again. Bucky held his hand under the water, seeing the places where the hot puree hit his skin reddening and growing shiny. “Looks like it hurts, Buck.”

“Didn’t tickle.”

“Aw.” Steve’s arm slid around Bucky’s shoulders and gave him a little shake. “What were you doing?”

“Got distracted.”

“Let me get the kit. Goofy butt. Next time, be more careful.”

“Quit calling me that. My butt is _not_ goofy.”

“Is, too.” Steve tugged Bucky in toward him just the slightest increment and kissed his cheek, then gave him a light shove as he headed off to the bathroom for the Walgreens in a box that he called his first aid kit. There it was, that warm, prickly flush creeping over his skin, starting from the imprint of Rogers’ lips and spreading all the way down to this toes. Bucky kept running his hand under the soothing, cold stream, wondering what just happened.

Steve kissed him.

And _no one was watching_. He stood thunderstruck by the sink, eyes unfocused as he let that fact sink in.

“Don’t know if it’s any consolation, but that soup smells so good.” Steve’s voice sounded like a guy who just got a Christmas bonus, bright, cheerful, and completely clueless as to the chaos running through Bucky’s thoughts, turning his whole world on its ear. 

“Shit… it’s got parmesan in it.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “That’s fine.”

“You don’t normally eat dairy, right?”

“Once in a while. Makes me a little gassy.” _Lots_ of things made Steve “a little gassy.” Then he shrugged. “It won’t kill me.”

“Yet all this time you’ve been nagging me about soy and almond milk???”

“They’re acceptable substitutes, they’re low in fat and high in protein,” Steve reminded him as he shut off the tap.

“Honestly!?”

“C’mere. Lemme fix your hand up.”

“You’re a punk!”

“Hey, if you want me to choke you out with my farts, keep feeding me cheese.”

“So that time we made stuffed shells for your mom?”

“Lactaid,” he said cheerfully. Steve took Bucky’s hand and gently blotted it with a dish towel, gingerly touching one of the burns with his fingertip. 

“I’ve been had,” Bucky muttered. “All this time, you’ve been-“

Steve leaned down and blew a small, cool stream of air over Bucky’s burns, and the sensation of the air dusting over his skin gave him little shivers that zoomed straight into his crotch. Steve didn’t notice the change that slid over his face with the gesture as he began to stroke burn cream over his hurts. 

“Thanks.” Bucky’s voice sounded choked and his lips didn’t want to work.

“Yeah, what would you do without me?” Steve teased. “Look at you, being the model patient.”

“Huh?”

“No griping? No grumbling at me?”

“Hey… someone made me drop a glass on the floor last time!”

“Okay, _there’s_ the griping I’ve grown to know and love.”

“Why do I put up with this? Why do I put up with _you_?”

“Rent,” Steve shrugged as he wrapped Bucky’s hand with a loose coil of gauze. His expression was smug. If he wasn’t helping Bucky, Bucky’d certainly kick him.

“Oh. Oh, yeah.”

“Either way, you’re welcome,” Steve sang. Before Bucky could pull his hand away, Steve lifted it to his lips and kissed his knuckles, just to give him a hard time. Bucky jerked his hand away and brandished it as though he was going to smack Steve with it, but Steve ducked out of the way, snickering at him as he left the room to change out of his work clothes. Bucky smirked to himself until he heard Steve’s bedroom door close, and then he stared down at his bandaged hand.

He’d done it again. Taken care of Bucky, even though it was just a stupid, trifling thing like a kitchen burn, but. Yeah. That was Steve.

It was nice. Steve… Steve Rogers _was really nice_.

…which just made it _so much harder_ to figure out a decent gift for the guy. Bucky was _toast_.

Steve cleared off some space on the kitchen table for them to sit down and eat while Bucky ladled soup into two bowls, garnishing each one with a dash of nutmeg. Steve inhaled the steam rising up from his and made an appreciative noise. “Smells so good, Buck.”

“Once in a while, I like a soup that’s a little highbrow.”

“It’s perfect on a day like today.” The weather was nasty outside, and for about the past three weeks, they’d been turning the heat on at bedtime, but Bucky had reached the point that he needed it on right after dinner. His arm and shoulder ached during cold weather, deep down into his bones. That made it hard to sleep, and to function. 

Slumped comfortably in flannel pajamas and thermal shirts, they ate the soup and the warm, crusty bread with garlic butter. Steve occasionally repeated how good it was throughout the meal, making Bucky blush. It wasn’t a big deal, he reminded himself. Steve loved his baking and his basic cooking; he’d certainly told him before. Even if he nagged him about his ingredients, sometimes, but that wasn’t the same has not actually enjoying what he was eating.

It was nice to have someone to come home to for dinner. Bucky got up to get himself more, and took Steve’s plate, too, when he automatically handed it to him.

“So, I talked to your mom again,” Steve confessed, “and she liked the idea of brunch.”

Bucky closed his eyes in frustration, ladle poised over the bowl. “Stevie…”

“No, no, it’s okay, we’re not the ones doing it. Your mom wants to.”

“Oh.” That put a different spin on it, and Bucky blew out a relieved breath.

“Yeah!” Steve’s voice was enthusiastic again, and it was almost… cute. “Your mom said she has a stuffed French toast recipe she wants to try! And she said, that, y’know, maybe we could all spend the night so we wouldn’t have to drive over in the morning? In case we wanna help make it?”

So, that still put Bucky on cooking detail, but at least he wouldn’t have to make all of it in addition to dinner. “That might almost work.”

“I figure I can still go get Ma in the morning,” Steve told him. “She wouldn’t have to get up as early. But it could be fun! We can get some Red Box movies and watch them on Christmas Eve? Make popcorn? Maybe do something fun for Wren, like a gingerbread house?”

Bucky winced. “Pal, do you even know how much work goes into those gingerbread houses? They’re a _nightmare_.”

“We’ll get a kit from Michaels.” Steve shrugged at him, and Bucky felt an indignant flare as he plunked Steve’s soup down in front of him.

“The hell we will!” Steve’s eyebrows flew up into his hairline, his expression utterly embodying _Oh, Shit, Now I’ve Done it._ “Michaels kit… did you _honestly_ just tell me you want me to settle for _prepackaged_ gingerbread?!”

“But. It. Might. Make it _easier_.” Steve had the dignity to curl in on himself sheepishly. “It could be fun!”

“Steven Grant Rogers.” _Oh, God, Bucky was turning into his mother. He was_ whole-naming _Steve now._ “I know you aren’t sitting here in my kitchen, suggesting we purchase _factory-made, inferior, inorganic_ gingerbread to serve at my mother’s table on Christmas Eve.”

“Technically, it’s, uh, _our_ kitchen?”

“Rubbish. This suggestion is absolute rubbish. Blasphemy.”

“It’s… it’s just a _suggestion_ , Buck!” Bucky saw a mixture of amusement and fear in Steve’s eyes, and it was adorable, but he shook his head adamantly and gave him a stern, double dose of Don’t Even Go There, Buddy. 

“Ohhhhhh, no, you don’t! I’d better not find any Michaels bags hidden in the house, Steve! No gingerbread house coupons! At the very least, I’ll accept Pinterest. Maybe Better Homes and Gardens. But if I see so much as a pouch of pre-mixed icing, I am not speaking to you until New Year’s Day.”

“Bucky!”

“NOPE!”

“Aw, Bucky!”

“Uh-uh! Zip it! ZIP IT!”

Steve sat back meekly in his chair and made lip-zipping motions over his own mouth.

“Is that you zipping it?”

“Mm-hm. Mm-hm,” Steve confirmed, lips still zipped, but his mouth curled with the effort not to laugh. He clapped his hand over his mouth and his shoulders shook.

“Stevie… I’m warning you. I’ll cancel Christmas!”

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

“Oh, I’d dare, pal. _I’d_ dare.”

“You. Monster.”

They went back to their soup. Halfway through, Steve murmured, “So, how about those big pretzel stick lollipop kits with the chocolate, then?”

“I’m warning you, Stevie.”

“Sorry.” Steve mopped up the last of his broth with his bread crust and then did the dishes without being asked.

And as much as Bucky fought it, as much as he tried to reason with the chorus of voices in his head ganging up on him, the germ of an idea took root of what to do for Steve’s Christmas gift.

Bucky knew he’d regret it, but how could he resist Rogers’ big, stupid face?

_Damn it._

*

Steve looked up from his Kindle at the sound of the receptionist’s voice at the front counter. Sarah came out from the radiology suite’s swinging door, using the bench of her four-wheel walker as a shelf for her purse. She took the reminder card for her next visit and tucked it inside before grinning down at Steve.

“Okay. First stop off the list. Where next? I want a muffin.”

“Sounds good to me. Lead on, McDuff,” Steve told her as he tucked his Kindle into his bag. 

“What else do we have to do today?”

“That’s up to you. Whatever you feel like, Ma.”

Steve took an early day, working six hours straight without a lunch so he could leave at two and get Sarah for her CT scan. Her follow-up visit with her oncologist was that Friday, so see how the last round of chemo had – or hadn’t – helped. Sarah wanted to get out for short jaunts when she had the energy, even if that meant being bundled so heavily that she could barely move. 

But it was worth it. Sarah enjoyed the sights and scents of downtown during the holidays, the front suite of the bed and bath stores with all of its holiday lotions and soaps, the toy train displays in all of the home goods stores’ windows, the twinkling lights. At least today they weren’t fighting flurries, and the sidewalks had been plowed to allow her to make her way through the crowds with her walker. 

“Let’s go give that husband of yours shit,” she teased.

“Ma,” Steve muttered. The receptionist smirked at Steve and waved as they left. 

“You know he doesn’t mind,” she told Steve as they exited through the automatic doors. 

“Stay here while I pull the car around.”

“He gets a kick out of it!” Sarah called after him. And the thing is, Sarah was right. Sarah loved going into his bakery and yanking Bucky’s chain, and Steve almost wondered what forces of evil and mischief he unleashed into the world when he let those two meet.

Today was no different. Steve parked the car in the back in his reserved space. Sarah grinned as Steve met her around the passenger side with her walker, unfolding it for her. “We’ve got connections. Don’t even have to park out there with the rest of the riff-raff,” she gloated.

“It’s all in who you know,” he agreed. 

“You bagged yourself a sugar daddy,” Sarah told him, because she knew that would make her son sputter.

“Geez…”

“He’d better have my cranberry muffin, or I’m gonna give him so much shit… there you are,” Sarah called across the serving room as she spied Bucky behind the counter, and Steve’s heart flipped when he saw his slowly widening grin and the way he leaned over the counter in anticipation. “Get back to work, lazy bones! How do you even stay in business, just loafing around all day?”

Sharon and Nat snickered as they passed behind Bucky with trays of danishes. “She said ‘loafing,’” Nat confirmed.

“God, I love her,” Sharon agreed.

“I’ve been waiting around on your all day, Ma,” Bucky teased back. “You finally showed up to grace me with your presence! Been waiting all day just twiddling my thumbs to serve you.”

“Sure, you were, buddy boy. That sounds like an excuse. Blame waiting for me on you just sitting on your fanny instead of serving all these nice people.” Sarah approached his counter, eyeing all the goods in his front shelves. “Look at how fancy,” she murmured to Steve. “The girls do nice work.”

“See, Bucky?” Sharon nagged as she elbowed him, while Nat stuck out her tongue at him just for spite.

“I see how it is. Give _them_ all the credit.”

“Give me my muffin already, ya brat.”

“Comin’ up, Ma.”

A warm little glow lit itself inside Steve’s chest. That was new, too. Bucky began calling Sarah “Ma” initially to be funny, but it eventually stuck. And it worked; despite the initial unease of their first meeting, they clicked, now. Sarah still had her misgivings about Steve’s hasty marriage, and she made no bones about getting Bucky “broken in” to joining their family. Once in a while, Steve would ask her, “Don’t you think you’re laying it on a little thick?”

“He can handle it. Hand me my hat.”

And Bucky? He really seemed to enjoy her ribbing. And he would nag her back just as much.

Like he was doing now.

“Why didn’t you wear that nice scarf Stevie bought you?” Bucky came out from behind the counter to meet them at Sarah’s favorite table with her muffin. It was large, with a fluffy dome studded with cranberries and chunks of walnut. He’d laid a little paper doily under the muffin on the turquoise plate, just for show, along with a pat of butter. “It’s cold outside, and you’re not fattened up enough go outside half-dressed.”

“Listen to this guy,” Sarah muttered to Steve. “I’ve got on a perfectly good turtleneck and a hat!”

“You could still stand to throw on a scarf. Stevie, Ma’s out of control.”

“You knew this,” Steve pointed out.

“I’m telling Steve,” Bucky told Sarah.

“I ain’t afraid of you,” Sarah challenged, but she was already picking at her muffin. “What do you have for tea today?”

“Earl grey and that white pear crap that Nat loves.”

“Give me the white pear crap, then. Let’s see what the fuss is about.”

“Comin’ up!” Steve unwound his scarf from his neck and watched his husband stroll back behind the counter, appreciating the sight of his butt wrapped in those jeans.

“He looks cute in his apron. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“MA!”

“Oh, settle down, you. I’m allowed to notice. I have a cute son-in-law.”

“Geez…”

“Your eyes are always glued to him as soon as he comes into the room,” she reminded him as she sliced her muffin in half and slathered it with butter.

Steve flushed darkly, mortified and debating whether to take off his jacket or hide himself under it before his mother got good and warmed up. Bucky came back, grinning, with Sarah’s tea in a fancy cup that no one else in the front serving area had. Blue willow pattern, silver-rimmed saucer and everything. “Your tea, madame.”

“Oh, Lord…” Steve clapped his hands at Bucky’s excess.

“I feel so spoiled,” Sarah remarked. “That’s cute. Stop it, kid, you’re gonna make me look bad for giving you a hard time.”

“Enjoy it, Ma. Stevie, you want anything?”

“Welll… guess I’m chopped liver. Took you long enough to ask.”

“Had lunch yet?”

“I can grab something on the way out.”

“I’ll fix it for you now.”

“How about that sandwich you made for me the last time? It was really good.”

“Comin’ up,” Bucky repeated, and he reached out to tweak the tip of Steve’s nose.

“Hey!”

“What? It was there. Had to do it.” Steve pouted, but before he could take umbrage, Bucky cupped Steve’s jaw and gave him a loud, smoochy-sounding kiss on the cheek. “Had to do that, too. You’re welcome.”

“Jerk,” Steve muttered, swatting at Bucky’s hands before Bucky escaped into the kitchen. Sarah’s laugh was smothered by her bite of muffin.

They ate companionably, listening to the Christmas music that Steve knew Bucky despised, but Sarah hummed along to it in contentment as she sipped her tea. “This isn’t bad. We need to get some of this.”

“I’ll put it on the list.”

“I’ve never had a sandwich from here.”

“You can try mine. It’s great.”

“You’ve been holding out on me. I see how it is.”

“Yeah, yeah. Eat your muffin,” he nagged.

“They’re going to have a Christmas brunch in the community dining hall for anyone who doesn’t have family,” Sarah mentioned.

“Well, you’re skipping it,” Steve told her.

“I wasn’t really planning on going,” she admitted. “Why? What are you planning?”

“You’re coming with us to Winifred and George’s place. I’ll pick you up whenever you want.”

“Ooh! They’re doing the brunch?”

“With all the trimmings.”

“Are they going to have enough room for all of us?”

“Sure they will, Ma. They have a guest room if you need to lie down. You remember how big their living room is, it’ll be fine!”

“I just don’t want them to go to the trouble-“

“It’s no trouble. They’d be devastated if you didn’t show up.”

Sarah sipped her tea, sighing. “We’ll see.”

That unsettled Steve. “You feeling all right, Ma?”

“I’m fine. Fine and dandy.”

Steve felt panic trickle into his veins. “Have you been having any dizzy spells? Short of breath? Are you having any pain? You need to speak up if-“

“Stevie. I’m all right. I’m… I’m good enough, for now. Okay?”

“Just… don’t be quiet about it if you’re not, okay? Don’t do that for my benefit? Please?”

“Sweetie, just… just don’t fret? I’m feeling all right. I can actually eat again, and things don’t taste as much like crap as they did for a while. I still see a nap in my future, but it’s nice to be out and about.”

“If it’s the immediate future, let me know, and we can cut this short.”

“We don’t have to cut it _that_ short. This is fun.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, then. Eat your sandwich.”

Bucky swept by to take their dishes. “Not that hungry today?”

“It doesn’t take much for me to get full, baby. But you know I enjoyed it, you big attention hog.”

Bucky beamed at Sarah, and he bent down and kissed her cheek gently. “Glad to hear it, Ma.”

And there was that warmth in Steve’s chest again as Sarah patted Bucky’s arm. “So, do you think you’ll make it to Mom and Dad’s for brunch?”

“We’ll see if I’m up for it.”

“No pressure. We’ll be glad to have you if you decide to show.”

“Listen to this guy. Thinks if he keeps buttering me up like this, I might _like_ him or something. Sheesh.” Sarah leaned in to Bucky and accepted his hug. “Don’t let this guy get away, Stevie.”

“Well, I kinda put a ring on him, so.”

Bucky bit his lip and ducked his face, and he gave Sarah’s shoulder a quick pat. “He did it for the free parking.”

“Ma, you weren’t supposed to let that slip out.”

“Sorry, Stevie. It got away from me.”

*

Sarah was used to seeing Steve’s art supplies spread across her dining room table. Half the time, she ate in the kitchen, anyway, so it wasn’t like she was a stickler for using that table for company. When Steve was still enrolled in art school, he stayed up til all hours of the night sketching and painting; Sarah usually woke up to the faint odors of oil paint and turpentine in her dining room, and she would just stare at his latest work, at the newest layers of paint on the canvas, wondering how she managed to have such a talented child. She indulged Steve’s clutter, the half-empty, rolled-up tubes of oil and acrylic paint, the hard and soft lead pencils and Micron pens, the kneaded erasers and stumps, the vine charcoal that shed black dust over every surface, the Copic markers and the airbrush compressor that Sarah kept tripping over when Steve didn’t put it away.

She loved watching her son create. Sarah created a “painting shirt” drawer in Steve’s bureau, keeping all of his ruined, battered t-shirts in it so he wouldn’t ruin any of his new ones. His oldest works, fingerpaintings, crayon sketches, construction paper silhouettes of his profile… those were her favorites. All of them hung on the refrigerator, a shrine to his developing skills. Those went with Sarah to her new apartment when she helped Steve pack up their memories. 

So, Sarah indulged him again, now, as his partner in crime, this time.

“He’s gonna flip when he opens it.”

“Hope so.” The airbrush hissed in a staccato rhythm as Steve filled in an area with a soft blend of blue. “Hard to know what to get him.”

“I really think he’ll like this, though.”

Steve continued to work on the large piece of Bristol board, using the photo he’d taken with his smartphone on the sly. He transferred it to his laptop and was using the photo as a reference, zooming in on small details, like the display in Bucky’s front window, or the headlights of Bucky’s car. Steve focused on a slice of light reflected in the glass, skillfully rendering it and making it look real enough to touch.

Steve kept arguing with himself that he could have just bought him some nice socks. Bucky could certainly use some new ones. He saw a slate blue flannel shirt in Costco that would bring out his eyes, but… somehow, it just wasn’t enough. Steve wanted to give him something special. Something that didn’t just say, “Here you go. Take this. Because, Christmas.” 

Steve knew Christmas wasn’t Bucky’s favorite holiday. He knew it was doubly arduous for him, owning a business that thrived on Christmas foot traffic and tastes, and that meant he had to immerse himself in all of its commercial aspects and fooferall. Steve remembered Christmases with his mother as his favorite times with her, even after – maybe even especially after – his dad was gone. Steve remembered midnight masses at church with Sarah, slumped against her and dozing off as candles were lit during the service, incense tickling his nostrils. They hung ornaments that Sarah purchased the day after Christmas the previous year, boxes marked with red clearance stickers, or the ones Steve made at school; Sarah kept those wrapped in tissue paper to protect them.

Bucky told him about his dad’s obsession with cutting their tree every year. Steve wondered what other traditions his family enjoyed, and which ones Bucky might be convinced to bring with him into their “pretend marriage.” The real question, the one that kept Steve up at night, was would Bucky even celebrate Christmas with Steve again next year? They hadn’t really discussed renewing their lease. But, for the moment, they hadn’t killed each other, right? Both of them paid their rent on time and kept the lights on. Both of them replaced the milk when they ran out (and yes, Bucky, Steve’s almond milk counted as “real milk”) and washed the dishes whenever the sink was full. Iago loved Steve, and the feeling was mutual. Bucky still talked about Sam a lot, and Steve knew he’d probably like him if he met him, too. He sounded pretty damned decent. Steve felt a little jealous, if he was honest, and he wondered if Bucky ever talked about _him_ that way in casual conversations.

Steve wondered how Bucky would react when he saw the drawing. Would he smile that way that Steve loved, when his eyes crinkled at the corners. How would Bucky feel, getting this little piece of Steve?

That left him here, in his mom’s dining room, working on a painting that his husband might not even like, or that could leave him perplexed as to why Steve made it. The possibility made his stomach churn.

“I was thinking about getting him a little something, too,” Sarah mentioned as she set down Steve’s cup of herbal tea. It was the white pear one that Nat drank, which didn’t surprise him.

“If you want.”

“I’m getting both of you the same thing.”

“Why? So we can be twins?”

“Nah. So neither of you will think I’m playing favorites.”

“It better not be “I’m with Stupid” shirts.”

“No. I got myself one of those for when the two of you come to take me out.” Steve cut his eyes at his mother before taking a sip. She stuck out her tongue at him and ambled back into her kitchen with her walker, shaking her fanny at him for good measure.

Bucky was right, to his dismay. She was looking far too thin.

*

_Christmas Eve:_

“We could do this in one trip, y’know.”

“Fuck your ‘one trip.’ I need to bring this in by itself. I’ll come back and get the rest of the gift in a minute.”

“Sheesh. Don’t bite my head off.” Steve hovered behind Bucky as he knocked on his parents’ door, balancing his large Tupperware box and the bowl he had on top of it. A plastic shopping bag dangled from his wrist. Steve stood holding several wrapped gifts in his arms, shifting them uncomfortably. They heard footsteps pelting toward them from inside, and Bucky knew that was Wren, already hopped up on sugar and ready to play. She fumbled with the lock, until Becca joined her in the foyer and unlocked it, letting her daughter jerk the door open to greet them.

“Uncle BUCKY! Uncle STEVE!”

“Hey, pumpkin!”

“What did you bring me?”

“Wrennie, that’s not polite,” Becca chided before she leaned in and kissed Bucky’s cheek. “So, what did you bring me?” she asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Here, Steve, let me take some of that,” Becca offered as Steve stamped the snow off his shoes on the front mat. 

“Can you take all of it? I’m going to the car to get the rest.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are those candies?” Wren poked Bucky’s shopping bag with her finger.

“No,” he lied, even though the bag of gum drops was visible through the white plastic.

“How come it looks like candy, then?”

“I have no idea why.” She bounced after him to the kitchen. Becca had her dressed in a cute red velour tunic top and red and white striped leggings. Her dark brown hair was already braided for bed, and Bucky heard _Frozen_ playing from the living room. He found George and Winifred cuddled together on the couch, and they looked up at him and smiled as he passed.

“We wondered when you were going to get here,” Winifred told them. She looked disappointed as she met them in the hall, noticing there were only two of them. “Sarah couldn’t come tonight?”

“She might sleep more comfortably in her own bed. She doesn’t do overnights much,” Steve apologized. “But she’s excited for brunch tomorrow. I’m going to pick her up bright and early.”

“Oh, that’s fine, sweetie.” Winifred leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Merry Christmas! Welcome to the chaos!”

“That’s some tree!” Steve stared up at it in awe, straightening his glasses as he took it in.

“That’s her pride and joy,” George told him. “Set those down wherever you can find room.” Steve distributed the gifts under the tree among the rest, finding the ones Becca already put down. He had to walk carefully so as not to disturb the electric train set up on the tracks laddered around the tree.

“Wow,” Steve murmured. “This is over the top…”

“We’re serious about Christmas in this house,” Winifred warned him as she sat back down with George.

“No, I _love_ it! This is how it’s supposed to be done!”

Bucky rolled his eyes from the doorway, and Steve caught the gesture. He thumbed his nose at Bucky and stuck out his tongue. “So, how did you have a son who’s such a Grinch?”

“Got me,” Winifred clucked, but she grinned at him. “Let me know when you boys are ready to make popcorn. We’re going to watch _A Christmas Story_ once this is over.”

Steve’s face lit up. “That’s my favorite!”

“Oh, we’re going to get along fine,” Becca decided. Bucky’s second trip to the car was for Iago, who he let out of her carrier to find herself a hiding spot in his old childhood bedroom. Eventually, she’d wander out for cuddles as everyone started to turn in, but the commotion of the living room and his niece’s noisy prattle was scaring her off. Wren knew the words to every song on the soundtrack. Which was fine with Bucky, since he had a task to finish.

Steve wandered into the kitchen, where Bucky was unpacking his Tupperware box and shopping bags. Bags of M&Ms and gum drops were set aside on the table, and Steve noticed two big bags of confectioner’s sugar. The scent of ginger and molasses wafted up from the box, but when Steve peeked under the lid, Bucky swatted his hand and clapped it shut again. “HEY!”

“No peeksies, buddy.”

“But… that looks an awful lot like-“

“It looks like nothing. Here, you’re on popcorn duty.” Bucky tossed one of the microwave packages at him. “Make yourself useful, Rogers.”

“But I thought you said that-“

“I said nothing. I said no such thing, in the history of ever.”

Steve gave him a jaundiced look. “O. Kay. I’ll just… make this popcorn. But I’ve got my eye on you, Barnes.” Steve gestured with his two fingers, pointing them at his own eyeballs, then pointing one finger at Bucky. “I’m watchin’!”

“Yeah, I see you watchin’! I’m watching you, too, Rogers!” They made popcorn, and Wren came in periodically to hound Bucky, too, about the sweets, but he continued to claim innocence. Steve kept sneaking looks at Bucky as he fiddled with the sugar, measuring some out into a bowl.

“Why does that look like it wants to be icing?”

“You’re going to embarrass it if you keep staring at it,” Bucky warned. He whisked in some water, letting the silky sugar dissolve, and when it proved too runny, he added in more of the sugar, throwing in a dash of vanilla extract. 

Steve laughed smugly under his breath. “You jerk! That’s frosting! I know what you’d doing, you big, lying sneak!” His eyes were filled with delight and he folded his arms indignantly. “You said you’d never make one of these!”

“Not from a _kit_.”

Steve looked like he wanted to swat him. He prized open the box again, and he exhaled a sharp breath at the sight of the perfect, smooth panes of gingerbread, already cut to the correct sizes. There was another box filled with rice Krispy treats. “I can’t believe you.”

“You remember you married a baker, right?”

Steve chuckled and shook his head, unable to believe this man.

“You’re somethin’ else, Barnes, y’know that?”

He looked delighted. Bucky just kept smiling, mixing his icing. “Get the popcorn, it sounds done.”

The popping slowed down, and that telltale odor of “five seconds shy of burnt black” began to waft into the kitchen. Steve hurried over and punched the stop button on the panel and gingerly removed the bag, shaking it to cool it. “Wrennie, find me a bowl, please?” he asked. Wren hopped down from the kitchen chair she’d knelt on while watching her uncle make frosting and rummaged in the cabinets instead for a big, plastic bowl. Steve poured in the popcorn and asked her, “Do you have any cocoa?”

“Oh, yeah. We came prepared.” Becca rooted in the cupboard over the sink and found two different kinds, a box of regular Swiss Miss and a can of Ghirardelli white cocoa powder. “We even have candy canes for it.”

“Nice,” Steve pronounced, and she gave him a high five.

“Told you, buddy. We do Christmas right in this house.”

“I never doubted you.” He gave Bucky a pointed look. “My faith was a little shaken in _this_ guy, though…”

“You’re mean,” Bucky pouted.

“God, that’s pitiful.” Becca’s voice was unsympathetic, though, as she found mugs.

“M’not mean,” Steve argued. “Hey,” Steve murmured as he joined Bucky and wrapped an arm around his waist. “This is awesome. You didn’t have to do this.”

“Merry Christmas?” It was a tiding, and a question. Bucky gave Steve a probing look.

“Yeah. Merry Christmas, Buck.” Steve leaned in and kissed him softly, making Bucky sigh into it.

Okay, Bucky decided. Okay.

He worked on the gingerbread house while his family watched the movie; Wren eventually abandoned him once he allowed her to have a small handful of the M&Ms and hurried out to join her grandparents on the couch. Steve occasionally snuck back in to check his progress, marveling at his skill.

“I’ve never really watched you work on anything fancy,” he admitted.

“Eh. You never have time to hang around,” Bucky pointed out.

“It’s neat, though.” Steve watched Bucky work with the krispy treats, twisting them into different shapes. He propped several “shrubs” outside the front of the fence he’d already constructed out of graham crackers and drizzled them with melted green chocolate. “How do you come up with your ideas?”

“You tell me. You’re an artist, too,” Bucky reminded him.

“Yeah, but I suck when it comes to food,” Steve admitted. “This is just so neat.”

“I enjoy it. Baking’s satisfying.”

“Well, it shows. I can’t tell a teaspoon from a tablespoon half the time.”

“Tablespoon’s bigger. And it’s equal to three teaspoons, not two the way that people think, in case you were wondering.”

“Shit. I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you know.”

_A Christmas Story_ was a bigger hit with the adults in the room than it was with Wren, and she grew bored. She occasionally peeked in on Bucky, and one time, she hauled Iago into the room, holding the cat under the arm pits so her hind legs dangled down, stiff as boards. Iago looked less than pleased at this indignity, and she meowed up at Bucky in annoyance. “Wren, that’s not how we pick up the kitty,” Bucky reminded her.

“But she was lonely!”

“Welp, there she goes, back under the bed!” Steve announced as the cat darted off once Becca reiterated that Wren needed to put her down.

“She’ll come out when she’s ready,” Bucky assured Wren, who was yawning and trying to hide it. “Uh-oh. Somebody’s getting ready for Santa to come…”

That perked her up. “We hafta leave him cookies and milk!”

“We will! But you have to brush your teeth and get ready for bed, too, Wrennie-Boo.”

She darted off, and Becca grinned into her mug of cocoa. “Nice job, Uncle Bucky.”

“Hey. I try.”

“I brought her a couple of books for bedtime,” Becca said. “Once she hears those, she’ll be out for the night.”

“Let Steve do the honors. He can read the Grinch just like the narrator in the movie,” Bucky told her. “He does it awesome.”

“How did you know?” Steve accused, but he looked tickled.

“Heard you when you were watching it the other night, reciting along with it,” Bucky told him cheerfully as he pressed a row of gumdrops along the roof.”

Steve noticed Bucky hiding a small piece of paper in his pocket every other time that he walked into the kitchen. He wanted to ask him about it, but Wren came back into the kitchen with her book under her arm. “Let’s put the cookies out for Santa,” she told Steve.

“Okay, I’m on milk and cookie detail,” he agreed. “What kind?”

“Oreos.”

“You’re the boss.” Steve helped Wren by holding the bottom of the heavy milk bottle for her as she poured it into a tall glass. They set out a plate of six Oreos on the ottoman, nudging it close to the fireplace while George and Winifred grinned from the couch. George snapped a quick photo of them with his phone.

“I love this,” Winifred whispered to him.

“Me, too, hon.”

“We need to figure out sleeping arrangements,” Becca reminded them. 

“I think Bucky wanted us to take the sleeper sofa,” Steve mentioned. “We brought an air mattress, too.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Becca told him. “I’m taking the sofa. Wren is in Bucky’s old room, in his old bed.”

“I already made up the guest room for you two, anyway,” Winifred urged. “The one down the hall. It has a double in it, so you should be comfortable.”

“Uh.”

“That should be fine, shouldn’t it?” Winifred looked up at him expectantly. “Originally, I was going to put Wren and Becca out here together, since the couch folds out, and your mom could have taken Bucky’s room, but since she didn’t come, I figure you can take that room for yourselves.”

“Uncle Steve, let’s read the story!” Wren nagged, tugging on his wrist.

Panic set off alarms in Steve’s head, and his face flushed as he followed Bucky’s niece to her room. This was unexpected.

But she hunkered down under the covers, and Steve sat on the edge of the bed beside her, showing her the pictures, and he read the book in his best narrator’s voice. Wren giggled and hugged her teddy bear close, watching him with a rapt look. 

Becca wandered into the room and parked herself at the foot of the bed, grinning at his previous undisclosed skill. “Nice,” she muttered as he continued to read.

“He’s a good reader,” Wren remarked, before she yawned again.

“You brushed your teeth?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She did,” Steve confirmed before he began to read again. Steve made room for Becca at the head of the bed so she could cuddle up next to Wren, and he let her hold the book as he continued to read it from over her shoulder.

By the time Bucky arrived, leaning against the doorframe, his eyes were bleary from all the detail work on the gingerbread house, but he heard Steve’s low, resonant, soothing voice reading the words that he still enjoyed, part of his own family’s traditions:

_“The more the Grinch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"_  
"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"  
"I MUST stop this Christmas from coming! But HOW?"  
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!  
THE GRINCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!” 

Bucky eased inside and slumped onto the floor beside the bed, next to Steve. He leaned his head against his husband’s knee, and Steve reached down and scratched his fingers through Bucky’s hair automatically. Bucky responded to that contact by kneading Steve’s socked foot. Both of them had been up since early that morning, and Bucky was exhausted. Steve’s fingers felt good gently scratching at his scalp and stroking through his hair, and Bucky let his eyes drift shut as Steve read.

He must have dozed off. Bucky stirred when Steve moved off the edge of the bed, gently patting Bucky’s cheek. “Hey. Buck. Let’s go. She’s asleep.”

“Whuh…?”

“C’mon. You’re wiped, Buck. Time to put you to bed, too.”

“House… isn’t done.”

“it’ll keep, Buck.” Steve’s tone was warm as he tugged Bucky to his feet, and Bucky noticed Steve’s eyes were drooping and slightly bloodshot behind his glasses, too. “Your mom said she has the guest room ready for us.”

That brought Bucky sharply awake. “The guest room?”

“it has a double,” Steve mentioned blandly.

Oh. Wow.

“I told her we were going to take the couch. But Becca’s taking the couch.”

“Sure am,” Becca boasted as she walked past them into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She gave Bucky a savage smile before she closed the door.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed under his breath.

“I can still get the air mattress,” Steve whispered as he pulled Bucky aside. “It’s no big deal.”

“Those things are noisy to blow up,” Bucky whispered back. “Look… it’s okay. We can just… roll with it. Just don’t hog all the blankets.”

“We can always put all the couch cushions on the floor,” Steve suggested. 

“Shut up, Rogers. Get ready for bed.”

Bucky waited for Becca to come out of the bathroom, and he countered her grin with a brief glare. “Nighty-night, fellas. Better go to sleep or Santa won’t bring you anything.”

Except blue balls. He was bringing Bucky a case of blue balls, because now he was going to have to sleep beside the man who had been giving him mixed feelings and dirty thoughts for some time, now.

“I’ll change in the room,” Steve murmured.

“Meet you there, punk,” Bucky sighed.

Bucky brushed his teeth and examined his face. He could stand to shave, but he could take care of that in the morning after he helped his mother make brunch, after Steve went to pick up Sarah. He went back out to the kitchen and put away his frosting, and he lightly draped the whole gingerbread house in plastic wrap to protect it. It was nearly done, but Bucky regretted that he couldn’t give Steve the entire “Voila!” affect by keeping it hidden from him during the construction phase. But it was still fun, talking to him, letting him watch and ask him questions and occasionally steal a candy or taste of icing.

It just felt right to have Steve there this Christmas Eve, wrapped in the warmth of his parents’ kitchen. Bucky wished Sarah had come, too. Winifred was already armed with Bucky and Becca’s photo albums, gloating that he was going to show Sarah _everything_ , including the bathtub photos and Bucky in ninth grade, when he still had braces on his teeth and what no one could deny was a mullet haircut. It felt wrong to have Steve there without Sarah, looking on proudly as he doled out generous amounts of smack talk just to make her son – and Bucky – blush like beets.

Bucky was looking forward to that brunch.

Bucky met Steve at the guest room, where he had just finished using that adjoining bathroom to brush his own teeth. He already had his glasses off, and he wore a thermal Henley and cotton boxers. His hair was mussed from changing his clothes, and his eyes were bleary and half-lidded.

“No sleeping naked tonight, right?”

“I’ll spare you,” Bucky offered. Steve bit his lip and got into bed. 

“This bed’s nice… it’s firmer than my mattress.”

“Mom just bought it,” Bucky mentioned. 

“It feels like it… oh, man, I’m gonna sleep good tonight.” The sound he made as he settled back into the pillows was like sex. Bucky felt the sound drift down into his crotch.

“Just don’t snore.”

“Can’t make any promises. Not about that, or about the night farts I’ll get from the popcorn.”

“Seriously!?”

“Sweet dreams, Buck.” Steve rolled over to his side and fluffed the pillow.

“God, why did I bring you with me?” Bucky muttered as he turned off the light. He settled down into the pillows, and like Steve told him, the bed was _very_ comfortable, and thankfully a queen-size. 

“Night, Stevie.”

“Need me to read you a story?”

“Uh-uh. I’m good. You did a nice job reading to Wren.”

“Liked that, huh?” Steve’s voice sounded amused in the dark, but pleased.

“It was nice.” Bucky yawned and curled up in the covers, trying to respect the invisible line between them, but he felt Steve roll back over to face him.

“Hey, Bucky? I just wanted to say, thanks for everything. For this. For sharing your Christmas with me and Ma.”

“I’m sorry she didn’t come with us tonight.”

“She wasn’t up to it, but she’s still looking forward to tomorrow.”

“I’m glad, Stevie. I really enjoy your mom, if you hadn’t guessed. She’s pretty great.”

He heard Steve’s smile in the dark without needing to see it. “Yeah, she is.” His voice sounded heavy. “If you were wondering, she likes you, Bucky. I mean, I know this is…” He didn’t know how to phrase it right. Or if there could even be a “right way” to phrase their arrangement in the context of sharing the holiday. 

“That means a lot, Stevie.”

“Get some sleep, Buck.”

“Night, Stevie.”

*

 

It was strange, sleeping in a bed with a partner – with a husband – who he wasn’t actually “sleeping with.” Yet, here they were, and it felt so damned weird…

Steve and Bucky both had long legs, and every time he drifted off to sleep, he felt Steve’s legs wander over to his side of the bed, and he would jerk his own feet back, trying not to invade Steve’s space. But every time they each rolled or turned, limbs would fly and butts would jut. Bucky felt a draft across his rump in the middle of the night and found that Steve had stolen all the covers from him. Bucky tsked and managed to prize some of them away from him before he dozed off again. Steve warned him about night farts – because wasn’t _that_ kind of him? – but he hadn’t mentioned that he was a wild sleeper. This guy tossed and turned, kicked, and sent an arm flying across the bed and almost cuffed Bucky across the chops.

By about three AM, Bucky found himself butt-to-butt with Steve, with one of his ankles caught between Steve’s. Steve was snoring like a buzzsaw. Bucky wondered how much sleep he’d even managed to get since he’d laid down.

By four AM, Bucky wondered if that was an arm he felt thrown over his chest. It jerked, spasming around him, before a loud snore vibrated into Bucky’s shoulder. “The fuck…?” he muttered aloud, before he drifted back off.

By five AM, Bucky had a full bladder, and to his surprise, he was trapped. Steve had glommed himself up against him during the wee hours, legs curled around him and his arms locked around Bucky’s waist. He was snoring away against the back of Bucky’s neck, hot breath stirring his hair. Bucky was too hot, and he drew back the covers to fan some cool air against his sweaty skin. But Steve hadn’t budged, and his fingers flexed against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky huffed. Well, _this_ was a predicament.

Bucky decided it was late enough now that he didn’t have to be too precious about trying not to wake Steve, and his bladder wasn’t playing with him, either. He extracted himself from Steve’s arms – and legs – and stumbled out of bed. He ignored Steve’s low croak of “Buck?” as he hurried into the bed and kicked the door shut. He relieved himself with a long, hissing stream into the bowl, cursing the freezing cold linoleum under his feet. The air in the bathroom was chilly, and Bucky almost regretted getting out of bed already. He flushed, rinsed and dried his hands, and quickly hurried back toward the bed.

“Get back in here,” Steve scolded hoarsely. “You’re not wearing enough, Buck. Did you pack a robe?”

“I’ve got my fleece bottoms packed in there somewhere,” he said, nodding toward the duffle bag that was still open on the floor. Bucky climbed back into bed and huddled under the covers.

“Warm yourself back up,” Steve told him. “I’m not gonna sleep in for that much longer. I need to make some coffee and get on the road to Ma’s before the worst of the traffic.”

“The heat’s definitely off,” Bucky murmured as he rubbed his feet together under the covers to shake off the chill. 

“C’mere, then.” Steve reached over and pulled Bucky toward him, not giving a damn about the “invisible line” down the center of the bed. 

“Uh… okay.” Steve fumbled for him, attempting to untangle the covers and tuck Bucky back under them as he pulled him against him, gathering Bucky against his body.

“Your feet feel like ice cubes,” Steve complained. “Here, warm up.”

And he was rubbing Buck’s arms and back, making Bucky hiss out a breath of relief. Oh, that felt nice. Steve’s skin was hot from his time under the covers, and he felt so solid and good.

Bucky moaned in pleasure at how good he felt. He didn’t want to get out of bed yet if he could convince Steve to keep doing that. He curled himself around him, breathing in his scent. Steve smelled like sleep and fabric softener; his breath was a little ripe, but Bucky wouldn’t hold that against him. Bucky rubbed Steve’s arms, too, less to warm him and more for the luxury of feeling those cords of muscle beneath the thermal waffle knit of his shirt.

“Not so loud,” Steve murmured. “Don’t wanna give anyone any ideas about us, pal.”

“Pfffft… they think we’re married, remember?”

He heard the crack of Steve’s smile in the still-dark room. “Still… we can be a _little_ discreet?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“I want to be able to look your parents in the eye at the breakfast table, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.” He sighed into Steve’s neck. 

Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky. His fingers found themselves in his hair again, smoothing the tangles back from his flushed face.

“You drooled on me last night, buddy,” Bucky informed him.

“You stuck your finger in my ear at some point a little after midnight. And you talk about my gas, Buck, but you Dutch-ovened me, too.”

“I did _not_.”

“I smelled what you ate _last week_.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad!” Steve chuckled under him, chest shaking beneath his cheek.

“Now I know not to feed you corn products.”

“I should get up and finish your gingerbread house.”

“Don’t. Not yet.” Steve’s arms tightened around Bucky, reiterating his plea. 

“I was gonna get up early, anyway.” But it was sounding like a worse idea every second. Because now that Bucky really had the chance to appreciate the close contact, lying against Steve, wrapped up in his arms, felt… perfect.

“Your niece is going to wake every up soon enough,” Steve pointed out. “Way before anyone’s really ready to get up. Just lie here and savor the quiet.”

And the sound of Steve’s slow, even heartbeat beneath Bucky’s cheek. Bucky stopped arguing with him and let himself doze off again; he could have sworn he felt Steve’s lips brush against his forehead, but he couldn’t be certain. He let himself melt into Steve, and sleep came to him more quickly this time.

*

That _sneak_.

Bucky woke up to an empty bed and as the now-bright room swam into focus, he noticed how cool the sheets on the other side of the bed felt, and he was bereft. No more cuddles? What a cheat!!

Bucky heard Wren’s giggles down the hall, and he figured by now, Becca was probably up, at least. Bucky rose and scratched, yawning as he pawed through his duffle looking for his sleep pants, but then he noticed them folded and waiting for him on top of the dresser. That was nice.

Steve even left a little note. Bucky unfolded it, huffing at Steve’s tiny, neat script:

_Hey. I made coffee to get your motor running to help your mom make brunch. Sorry about the stealth exit. Wanted to beat the traffic._

_You’re really cute when you sleep._

_Your Loving Hubby_

_PS – You do TOO fart in your sleep._

Bucky snickered and tossed the note aside before hopping into his pants. “Punk,” he muttered, but he was still grinning as he headed toward the kitchen, making sure to take his reference photo with him. Sure enough, he could smell the French roast coffee, and Becca was already warming her hands around a mug of it at the kitchen table, bundled into her robe.

“The natives are getting restless,” she warned him. Wren was by the tree playing with George and his electric train, and Iago padded into the kitchen, rubbing against Bucky’s legs. “I just fed Iago,” Becca told him. “She’s just being an attention hog, now.”

“When isn’t she?” Bucky reached down and scritched behind her ears, eliciting that sweet, trilling mew and some very loud purring. “Oh, yeah, she just ate. Listen to her, she’s all pleasant. That’s my girl. Yes, he is. Yes, she is.”

“Oh, my God, you’re sickening,” Becca accused, scrunching up her nose in disgust.

“She’s my fur baby,” he said. “Don’t listen to her, Iago. She’s just jealous.”

“HEY!”

“I love being Wrennie’s favorite uncle-“

“Her _only_ uncle,” Becca reminded him as she cut her eyes at Bucky.

“ – but I love being a cat daddy more.”

“Gads… how are we even related?”

Yet Becca patted her lap, and Iago hopped up for some good morning cuddles, arching her back as Becca scratched along her spine. She was shameless. Bucky resumed work on the gingerbread house, knowing Wren would appreciate it, and that Steve would enjoy coming home to it. He kept his reference photo out on the table where he could see it, glad he didn’t have to hide it anymore.

“Nice house,” Becca told him as she glanced at it. “Where is that?”

“It’s Steve and Sarah’s old house.”

“Oh, wow.” It dawned on Becca what Bucky was doing, and she smiled, shaking her head at him. “Wow. This is just… if it wasn’t obvious before, it sure as hell is now.”

“What?” Bucky went to work on the chimney, making “smoke” out of the rice krispy treats.

“You’re so gone on this guy.”

Bucky heard his mother coming around the corner in her noisy slippers as they slapped down the hallway. “Oh, wow!” she exclaimed. “That’s beautiful, honey! I love that! Why haven’t you ever made us one before?”

“He needed the inspiration,” Becca told her as she cocked one brow at her brother, who stood there quietly fuming, struggling against the urge to grip the frosting bag as hard as he’d like.

“Well, I love it. Steve’s going to flip over this. Wow. You must really love that man to put so much time into this, Bucky.”

Winifred didn’t notice the exchange of expressions on her children’s faces as she poured herself a cup of coffee at the counter. “He’s so nice,” she remarked. “I was up earlier, and I caught him just as he went out the door. He made the coffee, took out the trash, and told me Merry Christmas. Gave me a big hug, too.”

“He’s a big teddy bear,” Becca added. “Reads a mean Grinch.”

“I heard him down the hall! He’s so cute!” Winifred poked Bucky in the side, making him yelp. “You could’ve introduced us to Steve back when you were _dating_ instead of springing a husband on us, dear.”

_Suuuuuuuure._

Bringing home boyfriends meant watching his mother grill them like a flounder. Steve had Bucky’s ring on his finger when he got that treatment, at least… Winifred wouldn’t treat her son-in-law like a plum that she was checking for bruises at the produce bin. Because Steve was already technically “part of the family.” Which merited a different form of maternal meddling, because now, instead of trying to suss out whether Steve was _good enough_ for Bucky, she took things to the next level.

Winifred had nagging privileges, because Steve was now like _her_ son. 

Ever since that fateful dinner at the apartment, she’d taken to “helpfully suggesting” things to Steve, occasionally making Bucky hiss at her and make throat-cutting motions across the table, but they were never mean suggestions. Just… typical Winifred Barnes.

“I like him,” Winifred mentioned as she stirred creamer into her cup. “I hope his mom is up for brunch. How’s her appetite?”

“Still kind of meager,” Bucky admitted, because that was still eating at him. “A little better than it was before. She’s not as nauseous now, she’s off chemo for a while.”

“Oh, that’s good. Maybe she’ll perk up a little and feel more like herself.” That was a hopeful outlook, and Bucky wouldn’t cure her of it, yet. It was Christmas.

“She’s still sassy.”

“Good.” Winifred smiled. “I can wait to show her the photo albums.”

“Ma! For the love of God…” Bucky pulled a face, and Becca grinned as she continued to stroke Iago into a stupor.

“I like showing off my handsome boy.” Winifred stuck her tongue out at Bucky. “I’m the mom. I get my way.”

“Yeah, Bucky.” Becca stuck her tongue out at him, too.

“I’m showing them your dance recital pictures, too,” Winifred called back.

“What?!” Becca squawked.

“Ha-ha.” Bucky gave her a triumphant look as he continued to ice the house.

“I hate you.” Becca cut her eyes at him. “Iago, your daddy’s a jerk.”

“Quit talking smack about me to my cat.”

Wren came running into the kitchen, pouncing on Becca and startling Iago, who took umbrage by launching herself from Becca’s lap and digging into her leg with her hind claws. “OW!” Becca hissed.

“Mommy, when are we opening the presents? Santa already came!”

“I know, sweetie, but we have to wait for Uncle Steve to get back with his mommy.”

“Awwww!” Wren’s shoulders slumped.

“Honey, it’s polite to wait. Steve wants to see what Santa got for him, too.”

“Santa didn’t bring Steve anything. Uncle Bucky did,” Wren informed her.

Becca looked chastened. “Well. I beg your pardon.”

“Santa only brings presents for _kids_.”

“We should still wait for him.”

Steve would no doubt hate to miss out on Wren opening the present he and Bucky picked out, too, an opinion he didn’t voice to his niece. “Hey, can we make a little deal with you? You can open up the stuff in your Christmas stocking?”

Becca considered it when Wren’s face lit up. “That wouldn’t hurt.”

“YES!” Wren leaned up and kissed Becca and ran off. “I get to look in my stocking!” she shouted at her grandparents.

“Oh, boy,” Bucky heard George tell her, knowing full well that his granddaughter was champing at the bit and wasn’t going to give them any peace until Steve arrived.

But things calmed down a little as Bucky finished the house and then helped Winifred start cooking brunch. He took out the strata casserole from the refrigerator, which had been soaking overnight, along with a stuffed French toast casserole. Winifred fried bacon and sausages while Bucky scrambled some plain eggs and made home fries.

“I made a Jell-o salad, too,” Winifred told him. “It’s on the bottom shelf. You can leave it in there until they get here.” He spied the orange, bundt-shaped mold, milky and thick with chunks of pineapple and walnuts. 

“I haven’t had one of those in ages,” he remarked.

“Sometimes, you just feel like Jell-o,” she said. 

“What else is in it? I need to ask Steve if he’s allergic to anything in it.”

“Oh, shoot… right. Well, walnuts, pineapple, Cool Whip, and sour cream?”

“Eh. Lot of dairy. But if he takes a Lactaid, he can eat it.”

“Okay. I’d better leave the recipe cards out for the casseroles so he can read them before he eats, then. I wish I’d thought more about that before.” She looked fretful.

“Don’t worry about it, Mom. He can eat the bacon and eggs. He won’t starve.”

“I know. I just wish I had made him something special.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“I need to take a picture of this house,” Winifred remembered. She snapped a photo with her phone and showed it to him. “That’s beautiful.”

“Just glad it’s done.”

Bucky finished transferring the food into serving bowls by the time his phone rang. Steve’s contact photo came up on his screen. “There he is. Wonder what’s taking him so long?” he mused before he swiped to accept the call. “What’s going on, Stevie? Are you back on the road?” Before he could tease Steve with the promise that he’d eat all the bacon without him, Steve’s hoarse voice interrupted him.

“Buck. I’m at the hospital with Ma.”

Bucky’s blood ran cold. “Stevie-“

“I gotta go. I’ll… I’ll call you back.”

“Steve!”

The call ended, and Becca noticed his ashen look.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna get dressed. Tell… tell Mom and Dad that breakfast is ready. Becks, I gotta go.”


	11. Sometimes it's heaven sent, Then we head back to hell again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illness doesn’t take a holiday. Steve and Bucky receive some devastating news that might tear them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. It went here. The tags might change accordingly by the next installment. But Sarah will still be her outspoken self, I promise.

It took Bucky three trips around the ramp at the hospital’s parking garage before he finally found a spot for his Mustang. Since it had been a while since his own last stay at the hospital, he forgot the visitor check-in protocol. A stern-faced charge nurse had him sign in at the front desk of the Oncology wing. 

“What’s your relation to the patient?”

“I’m her son-in-law. My husband’s already in there.”

“Okay. Take this bracelet.” She snapped the fastener of the small, orange-and-white striped paper bracelet around his wrist and beckoned to him to follow her to Sarah’s room.

Bucky remembered the smell of the hospital, the cream-colored arm rails along the walls, the rows of hand sanitizer pumps down the corridor, usually from the vantage point of a gurney. His legs were always a little too long, and the blankets never quite covered his feet. Ever since his accident, he avoided the hospital, instead waiting for his primary doctor’s office to call him back for appointments, using the prompt care clinic, or just “toughing it out” when he was only slightly sick or ran out of Percocet between scheduled visits. Once Bucky became his own boss, he avoided trips to the ER. Five minutes of care and a minimum three-hour wait to be seen later, and he was a thousand dollars poorer.

Yet, he’d rather be a patient himself, bored out of his mind in the hospital room, swaddled in the ugly blue gown, unable to get comfortable on those hard beds, and getting interrupted by staff every ten minutes to ask him when he last peed, than have to visit someone he truly cared about, not knowing what the doctors were going to tell him and Steve. Bucky feared for Sarah, and he was _so_ worried about Stevie.

Bucky hovered by the door for a moment. It was closed, but he saw Sarah through its window, between the slats of the mini-blinds. She lay in bed, already dressed in a hospital gown and still wearing one of her knit beanies, and she had a beige bath blanket draped around her shoulders. Bucky felt annoyed that she wore so little in the drafty room, but he noticed several IV lines, EKG monitors, a BP cuff and pulse ox clipped to her finger. An O2 cannula was looped around her face, and Steve hovered by the bed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

He looked up sharply at the sound of Bucky’s low knock, and his voice was gruff when he joined them at the bedside. “You didn’t have to come yet. I didn’t want to pull you away.” All the events of Sarah’s trip there and the flurry of staff who had come to assess his mother and ask him questions wore on him, creasing his face with worry lines. He was frustrated at Bucky, which pissed him off no end.

“Bullshit.” Bucky’s brows drew together, all thought of sympathetic words put aside for the moment. “Like I’m not going to come.” The doctor gave them a measured look and extended his hand, and Bucky shook it firmly.

“This is my husband, Bucky.” He stood by Steve, ignoring Steve’s gesture for him to take the chair in the corner. He felt Steve’s tension radiating from him, and he reached down to briefly grip his wrist. Steve gently extracted himself from Bucky’s hold, and Bucky didn’t press the issue.

“Be careful with this guy, Doc, he’s a troublemaker. Keep an eye on him,” Sarah joked, but Bucky was shocked to see how much Sarah had declined, even in the past couple of weeks since he saw her last. Her skin was gray and her lips looked chapped; her eyes were watery and tired, and she just looked _too thin._

“Can we bundle her up a little more?” Bucky asked.

“Are you chilly?” the doctor asked Sarah. She made a comme ci comme ca motion with her hand. “I’m sorry about that. We’ve been working your mom up,” the doctor told Bucky and Steve, “and we’ve been examining her so much that she’s hardly had any chance to settle down under the covers.”

“Just got back from CT,” Sarah told Bucky in a bland, none-too-enthused tone. “Just had one a coupla weeks ago, I might add.”

“We’re going to compare that scan to this one, and to tomorrow’s MRI.”

Bucky winced. He remembered the migraine he had from his last one from the noise, despite the lousy earplugs they gave him. He also remembered the cold, hard, claustrophobic chute, and having to fight the urge to fidget or adjust himself to get more comfortable.

“I’m a pro at it by now,” Sarah told Bucky. 

“Yeah, you are,” Steve agreed dryly, but his smile was small and tight.

“We’re going to do it in the morning, so you can just be NPO at bedtime. You might feel a little better after you eat.”

Sarah gave a dimpled smile, just because. “Oh,< i>joy.” Bucky smiled despite himself, even though his mind swam with worst-case scenarios. He felt the energy slowly leave his body the longer the doctor spoke.

“…we’ll know a little more once we get your labs back. I’m a little worried about your white blood counts, and on your last visit, you were a little anemic. You said you’ve been having pain in your chest?”

“Not all the time. It’s worse whenever I get up from a chair, with my walker. I figured I just pulled a muscle.”

He hummed thoughtfully. Bucky wanted to kick him, if it meant he wouldn’t hold anything back. Beside him, Steve was practically bouncing on his heels. Bucky could feel his irritation rising in waves, but he listened actively, giving the immediate impression of patience.

“How long will it take to get back her labs?”

“Usually within the hour.”

Which could mean tomorrow, Bucky thought bitterly.

“You said I could eat a little something?”

“You sure can,” the doctor told her, smiling benignly.

“Good. Have ‘em send up some grub and another couple of blankets. I’m freezing my tits off.”

“Ma,” Steve muttered, but she winked at Bucky, who winked back.

“Fair enough. If you have any other questions, let the girls at the nurses’ station know, and they will page me.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

He swept out, and Steve automatically adjusted her blanket and pulled up the thin bedspread so it covered her ribcage. “Want me to turn up the thermostat, Ma?”

“No. Blankets will be fine. Those things have two settings, Phoenix in July, or Pluto.”

She was right.

A CNA came in with two more blankets and tucked Sarah in properly, and they took her order for a lunch tray. The dietary aide chuckled when she told him she wanted a Big Mac after he gave her a choice of the turkey sandwich or the chicken with gravy. Bucky knew Sarah wouldn’t have managed more than a couple of bites of a burger, that it was ambitious thinking on her part. “Used to love ‘em,” she mused. Then, she told Bucky, “I’m sorry I missed your mom’s brunch.”

“We missed you,” Bucky corrected her. “I’m sorry you missed Stevie reading the Grinch last night.” That made Sarah give them a genuine smile.

“Oh, we used to love that book, and that special when it came on.”

“He read it to Wren before bed.”

“Did he do the voice? He’s good at the voice.”

“He sure did.” Steve was up and around the room, fidgeting and fussing with everything, pouring Sarah a glass of water from the pink plastic pitcher, closing her window blinds to shut out the glare, turning down the television set. Anything to take the edge off the wait for his mother’s MRI the following morning, and what it could tell them.

“Stevie, take a load off,” Bucky told him.

“Please,” Sarah added. “Steve. Please. Calm down.”

He froze in the middle of folding her clothes and set them down. Steve sat, and Bucky handed him the water he’d poured his mother. Steve stared at the cup for a moment, confused, but then he took a hesitant gulp. Bucky needed a second to compose himself, too.

“I’m going to go out and ask for another of the big tumblers. Sarah, want anything else?”

“I can have clears. A 7-Up would be nice.”

“Back in a flash.”

Steve watched him leave and toyed with the remote again. He looked haggard and tired, and Bucky knew their early morning didn’t help that, but his mind took him in bad directions when he contemplated what might have happened if Steve had shown up any later than he had.

But that hurt, at the moment, was Steve, assuming he wouldn’t come. That he’d let him go through this alone, for the sake of a _brunch_. He fumed all the way back to the charge desk, and while another friendly CNA led him to the pantry and filled a tumbler with ice chips and water for him and gave him a drinking straw. He thanked her and lingered in the hall for a moment, sending a quick text to Becca.

_She has an MRI tomorrow. They’re worried about her labs._

Becca texted him back automatically, sending an emoji of praying hands. And then, _Thinking about you and Steve. Rooting for Sarah. I’m so scared for her. Keep me posted, please._

He texted her back once more. _Tell Wrennie she can have some gingerbread._

Becca sent him one last message, too. _She told me not without you here._

For some reason, that made his eyes burn and his throat feel tight. Bucky shoved his phone back into his pocket and rejoined his husband and mother-in-law.

Steve’s low sob interrupted any greeting he could have formed, and Bucky hurried inside, gently closing the door behind him and setting the tumbler down on the overbed table. Sarah had one bed rail down, and she had her arms around him where he bent, slumped over her, unable to let go.

“I’m still here,” she told him gently. “What’s all the fuss about, sweetheart?”

“Please…” His voice was broken and hoarse, and Bucky lingered beside him, laying his hand against his back, just to remind him that he was there. Steve jerked beneath his touch, but he didn’t refuse it, and Bucky rubbed his back, quietly grounding him while he broke down. “I’m not ready…”

“I know you’re not.” But her voice was tired, even as she tried to keep it steady. “But I’m still here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby.” 

And in that moment, Sarah’s eyes locked on Bucky’s over Steve’s shoulder, and they pierced his soul. Bucky mutely nodded, and he felt his eyes grow hot and glazed. She held his stare, and he nodded again. Steve’s back was broad and hard, shoulders knotted from stress, and Bucky could feel how much he’d been carrying on them through that contact. “It’s okay,” Sarah told Steve. “This place ain’t the Ritz. The decorating could use a little work, but the room service is _top-notch_.”

“Ma,” he rasped, voice wet but holding a note of laughter.

“Let them take care of me. Let them take a turn, Stevie. Okay?”

Steve sobbed, and Bucky continued to rub his back, while Sarah stroked his hair. 

“You don’t have to do everything yourself,” Sarah scolded. “Leave it to me to raise a son as stubborn as I am.” Steve huffed and drew back, and his face was a red, damp mess. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, and she leaned into it, savoring it. 

“I wanna take care of you, Ma.”

“You have,” she told him. “And you’ve been doing a damned good job, Steve. But I need you to take care of yourself, too. Understand?”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“Bullshit.” She nodded to Bucky. “Look at those eyes. He can hardly keep ‘em open.”

“M’fine,” Steve told her. He moved to the side of the bed and took the chair Bucky moved there for him, and he just held her hand. Tears were still spilling from his eyes.

“Drink some more water,” Sarah ordered. “Your lips look chapped.”

“Okay, Ma.”

“I always tell him to drink more water,” Sarah told Bucky as Bucky unwrapped the straw and stuck it into the tumbler. Steve took a few dutiful sips, catching his breath and composing himself. Bucky lingered over him, hand cupping Steve’s shoulder. Steve handed the cup back to him once he’d had enough, and to Bucky’s relief, he covered his hand with his and gave it a squeeze. His eyes were bloodshot and limpid when he gazed up him, but he mouthed “Thank you, Buck.”

“You’re welcome,” he told him. “You’re always welcome. Okay?”

“Hey, boys,” Sarah mentioned. “I’m a little worn out. I could use some shut-eye. Steve, I’m going to let you bring Bucky up to speed, but I need to turn in for a while.”

“Okay, that’s okay. Get some rest, Ma. The phone’s right there, okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Go eat. Bucky, go feed him.”

“I’ll try.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m still feeding you.” Steve huffed again, letting Bucky’s hand slide away as he leaned down to kiss Sarah. 

“Stay bundled up. Don’t catch a chill, Ma.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Here’s your call light.” Steve grabbed the dangling cord and clipped it around the bedrail so she could get to it.

“Sweet dreams, Sarah.”

“You ain’t kiddin’. That’s what the morphine’s for,” Sarah teased. Bucky smiled, but he felt stricken.

“We’ll take my car,” Steve said. “I’m in the visitor parking.”

“I’m in the garage,” Bucky said.

“Okay.”

“Let me say ‘see ya later’ to Ma,” Bucky told him. Steve’s mouth looked tight again, but he nodded before he left, shrugging into his jacket on the way out.

Sarah sighed. “We’ve been needing to have this talk, but it’s waited this long. It can keep on waiting for the moment.”

“We can do the short version of it now.”

“Okay. Short and sweet. Do you love my son, Bucky?”

Bucky’s heart twisted in his chest. 

“Ma…”

“Because when I look at you now, and when I’ve watched you before… you’ve hesitated. You hesitated that day when you told me you got hitched. But Stevie… my big, sweet Stevie didn’t waste a second.”

Bucky’s throat was tight again, and his fingers clenched. “I know. It… we didn’t know how to tell you and my folks that we got married-“

“I know that. But, it shouldn’t have been hard. Not if you were in love. Two crazy kids who decided to take the plunge? What’s hard to explain about that? Happens every day.” And now Sarah’s eyes were shining, and her voice shook. “Because guess what? My son loves you. He hasn’t told me as much, but I know my son. And, James Buchanan, my Stevie has a big, soft heart with lots of room in it to love you. Do you understand that?”

Bucky nodded again, and his eyes flitted down to the floor. A part of him refused to believe this. Bucky and Steve… they were _friends_. Together out of necessity. And yet… and, _yet_.

“So, when I ask you if you love my Stevie, I don’t want you to hesitate. Life’s too short. And he’s a good boy. He deserves the world, and the right person who wants to give it to him.”

That brought Bucky sharply to attention. “Sarah…”

“I don’t know why you two got married in such a hurry. You’ve both never really been clear. Stevie just told me ‘The time was right’ but I can smell bullshit when you wave it under my nose. It’s not like me and my Joe. He got me in trouble, and we tied the knot before I needed bigger pants, but he still loved me. He didn’t hesitate to tell me, or anyone else when they asked.” 

“All right.”

“Are you proud of my boy? I know I am,” Sarah boasted.

“Yes, I am!”

“Then act like it. No more hesitation. I don’t know if this marriage of yours was just a convenience of some kind,” she mused, and Bucky felt like she carved out his insides with a melon baller, “but I want my son to feel loved. To _be_ loved. Because he’s _everything_ to me. When I’m gone, if you’re not there for him one hundred percent, then he has no one. He has _nothing_.”

Tears dripped from Bucky’s eyes, leaving cold trails down his cheeks and staining his shirt. “I won’t let that happen. I’m going to be there for Stevie. No matter what.”

“Will you?”

“Yes.”

“Then love him the way he deserves. Love him and don’t let go. Reach out and grab him, Bucky, and hold him close. D’you hear me?”

“Yes, Ma.”

“You do?”

“I do.” He nodded emphatically. Quickly.

That satisfied her. Bucky felt raw.

“Come here.” Bucky bent down and kissed her cheek and automatically retucked her blankets. He took her hand and squeezed it.

“He is a good man.” Bucky straightened up and wiped his eyes. “There’s days… there’s days where I don’t think I deserve him, to be honest.”

“Then, don’t hesitate. Because life’s too short. 

“We’ll be back soon.”

“Take your time.”

Bucky closed the door carefully and hurried to meet Steve at the guest parking lot. He found Steve pausing to adjust the passenger seat for Bucky’s longer legs and turning down the volume on the radio. The air between them was tense as Steve backed out of the parking space, and his hand grazed Bucky’s shoulder as he turned to see his rearview. 

“I’m going to take us to Starbucks, is that all right?”

“That’s fine, Stevie. You sure you don’t want to stop back at the house for a quick nap?”

“Not yet.” His voice was still gruff and tight.

“That’s fine.”

“Yeah, I _know_ it’s fine,” Steve snapped. Bucky flinched. 

“Steve.”

“You didn’t even have to come, Buck!”

“The hell I didn’t! Do you think I’m not worried about her? Or about you?”

“Me? You’re not worried about _me_. You’re just trying to make the right impression!”

That struck Bucky like a slap, and he stiffened.

“Is that what you think?”

“You don’t know… you just don’t know, Buck. I found her on the floor. She was having trouble breathing. With all of her pain pills and her blood pressure medicine and everything else, we have to be so damned careful to watch how they interact and to make sure she gets the right dose. But she fell. She was having chest pains, and she’s never had them like that before. The scans of her hip and her legs looked better, Bucky, but that doesn’t mean shit. Her cancer could have spread.” Steve’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, but Bucky was still nursing the wound Steve had inflicted and staring out the passenger side window, listening to his husband as he went back to a bad place. “I had to call the administrator at her complex and an ambulance. They put her on oxygen. She might need to be on it from now on.”

Steve turned the car into the Starbucks parking lot after circling the block twice due to traffic. He found a space along the back wall of the adjacent business and parked, pretending for the moment that there wasn’t a “Customers Only” parking sign that said all others would be towed. Steve never broke the rules. That worried the _shit_ out of Bucky. His movements were sharp and brusque as he shifted the gear to park and put on the brake. Bucky hurried out of his seat belt and out of the car quickly to let Steve lock up, and he kept his hands shoved in his pockets, not attempting to touch Steve. He just listened.

“She was fine last night,” Steve insisted. “We talked for a while. While you were making the house, I went outside for a minute and called her.” They went into Starbucks, which was still crowded with holiday customers. Bucky silently patted himself on the back for closing his own shop to let Nat and Sharon enjoy the holiday, but that didn’t mean Steve didn’t deserve a decent coffee and a place to sit and vent.

“She didn’t sound like anything was wrong. She was looking forward to seeing your mom.”

“Feeling’s mutual. Mom loves Sarah. Wren does, too.” Everybody did, if Bucky was being honest. The line moved slowly. “Want an eggnog latte or the salted caramel mocha?”

“I can’t drink eggnog.”

“Okay.”

Bucky grew lost in his own thoughts while they stood in line. His stomach growled, but he wanted to save his appetite for later. He selected a small bag of dried fruit trail mix for himself, and Steve nodded at him to grab him one, too.

“One soy milk white mocha, no whip. Throw in a pump of hazelnut, too, please.”

One eggnog latte. And these.”

“Names for each?” The barista held her Sharpie pen poised at the edge of the cup.

“Punk, for this guy,” James teased, and Steve huffed, giving the side-eye.

“So that’s how it is, huh? Write ‘Jerk’ on his, then.”

She smirked at both of them and scribbled on the cups. “It’ll be up in a minute. That’ll be twelve dollars, please.”

They waited at a small table along the wall, and Bucky perched on the uncomfortable stool. 

“We’re gonna hafta talk to the admin at Mom’s about her O2 when she’s discharged. I don’t know how she’s going to manage with a tank and a walker…”

“I had an aunt on O2. She was on liquid O2. Smaller canister. She carried it in a little backpack.”

“I just don’t know how this is going to work.” Steve leaned his elbows against the table and plowed his fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do next.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Well.”

Frustration made heat creep over Bucky’s cheeks and tightened the flesh at the back of his skull. “Look, I’m sorry. Maybe you didn’t want me there so you could get Sarah settled, but, Stevie, c’mon. Just, please don’t tell me I don’t want to be here. Or that I shouldn’t be here.”

“You don’t _have to_.”

“So, I should let you do all this by yourself? Just go it alone?”

“Bucky-“

“I kinda hoped you’d be used to the idea of a husband by now, and that you’d know that I’m in your corner.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I know you’re trying to be.”

“Stevie, I really am. Can you let me be here for you?”

Steve looked stricken. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to tell you can help.”

“Stevie, just, please just let me _try_.”

“I’ve got a latte and a mocha for Punk and Jerk!” the barista called, evoking a few chuckles from the front serving room. Bucky saw the cashier do a double take at their cups and snicker before he rang up someone else.

“I’ll get it,” Bucky told him. He handed Steve one of the bags of trail mix. “Tell me if it’s any good.”

“It better be. Stuff cost a grip for this little, tiny bag.” Steve tried to open the bag with his fingers and eventually ended up tearing at the top flap with his teeth. “Shit, there’s coconut in it.”

“Allergic?” Bucky asked as he came back with their drinks

“Yeah.”

“Shoot.” Bucky considered the line. “Wanna take these to go?”

“Why? Ma said she wanted a nap.”

“I know. I just figured we could stop at the shop and get you a little something else.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you’re not the boss of me, and I want to. So, how do you like that, buddy boy?”

Steve’s nose scrunched, and he snickered for a moment. “Well, you’re not the boss of me, either.”

“Am, too.”

“Are not.”

“I’m gonna fix you something. Even if you don’t wanna go back to my parents’ place yet.”

Steve sobered. “You can go back without me, for a while.”

“No. I don’t want to go back without you.”

“But, you _can_.”

“Are you gonna be stubborn about this?”

“Bucky. C’mon. It’s Christmas Day. You should be with your family having brunch and opening gifts!”

“Why would I want to open gifts without my husband there to enjoy them? Huh?”

Steve stared down at his drink and toyed with the lid.

“I want to spend my Christmas with you. No matter where you are. I want you to understand that. That’s what husbands do.”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He sighed and rubbed his nape. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

Steve got up from stool and rounded the table, gently tugged Bucky off of his seat and captured him in a crushing hug. Bucky’s arms slowly, but tightly coiled around Steve’s body. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“For what, punk?”

“For what I said, jerk.”

Steve let go of him too quickly. They took their drinks with them to the car. Bucky didn’t shrink from their proximity this time, and when they reached a red light during traffic, Bucky covered Steve’s hand with his where it rested on the gear shift. Steve briefly turned his hand over and squeezed Bucky’s back before the light changed.

When they reached the bakery, Bucky unlocked the back door and let them in through the kitchen.

“Sharon showed me Nat’s present. She had it in the safe until she was ready to wrap it up.”

“Whatever works.”

“Couldn’t really hide a gingerbread house from you.”

“Not the whole house. I had no clue you even made gingerbread until we unpacked the car,” Steve admitted. “I just figured it was stuff for brunch.”

“Wish you’d been around to smell the kitchen when I was baking it.”

Steve smiled, nodding. “Bet it smelled _amazing_.”

“One of these days, maybe we can do it again.”

The question of “When?” hung in the air between them, unmentioned.

“Let me make you a sandwich.”

“Can you make Ma one, too, then?”

“As long as you tell me what I can put on it, then sure, baby.”

“Chicken or turkey would be nice.”

“I have some nice smoked turkey and some really good Gouda.”

“Maybe skip the cheese, this time. A little lettuce and cucumber would work, though.”

“I can do that.”

Bucky made three sandwiches and packed Sarah’s in a to-go box, along with a couple of day-old muffins and a bottle of apple juice. Steve and Bucky sat down and inhaled their sandwiches on the butcher block table in the center of the kitchen.

“Did Wren open her present?”

“I think they let her open everything by now,” Bucky reasoned. “She was working on her stocking when I left.”

“I wanted to see if she liked her Legos.”

“You know she did, Stevie.”

Steve swirled the last of his mocha in its cup. “Did you get the chance to open your present yet?”

“Which one?”

“Mine. To you.”

Bucky shook his head and murmured “Mm-nh” into his cup as he took a swig. “It’s not the same if you aren’t with me to open presents, punk.”

“You _could_ have.”

“Stevie. It’s not the same.”

“So, Buck. I’ve been thinking.”

No good conversation ever started with those words, to Bucky’s recollection.

“If you want to tell your parents about why we got married, I won’t mind.”

“Yeah? Well, that’s generous of you, Steve. Not minding, an’ all. But I think _I’d_ mind.”

“Why? Would it shock them any less than the day we told them we tied the knot?”

“Steve. I don’t want to tell them that. Okay.”

Because it had been unsettling enough when Sarah had called Bucky out.

“I just don’t want you to think you have to play along with me. Or act like we’re more than roommates for everyone else’s benefit if it’s getting old.”

“For everyone else’s benefit, huh?”

A hot rash of frustration spread over Bucky’s skin. Bucky took their empty plates to the sink and ran them under the water.

“Was that wrong? Did I just say something wrong?”

“Nope.” Yup.

“You seem like… I’m guessing that was the wrong thing for me to tell you.”

“Not at all. You were just making a kind offer.”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice was on edge.

“Because. You _know_ me. I just want to make an ‘impression.’”

“Oh, God. Bucky. I didn’t mean it…”

“You did, but I understand, Steve. I get it.”

Bucky’s movements were stiff as he washed each plate and plunked them down a little too firmly in the drying rack. He leaned his heels against the edge of the sink, and his posture was defeated. He stared down at the comfortingly familiar stainless steel, drumming his fingers against its edge.

“If you just want to turn down the PDA, Rogers, I’ll be fine with that.” That was a lie. “But I don’t want to tell my parents about our arrangement. In all the ways that matter, you’re their son-in-law. They really like you. I don’t want that to change, while we’re living together.”

The silent deadline of their lease lingered in the back of Bucky’s thoughts, an unwelcome shadow.

“There’s nothing wrong with the PDA,” Steve told him gruffly. “If anything, if it starts to bother _you_ after a while, speak up. I won’t pressure you to do anyth-“

Bucky threw the sponge into the sink, slapped the worst of the water from his palms against his jeans, and closed the gap between them with long strides as Steve spoke, determined. Mad as hell at Rogers’ temerity.

 _If it started to bother Bucky after a while._ For _fuck’s_ sake. Who did this guy think he was?

Bucky’s hand fisted itself in Steve’s collar, and he caught a brief glimpse of Steve’s eyes looking incredulous behind his glasses before he kissed him hard. Bucky’s other hand slid around Steve’s nape, fingers curling into his soft hair, and Steve “hmmph’ed” into his mouth, breath shuddering out of him as he let Bucky _be the boss of him with that kiss_. Bucky’s lips were firm and hot, nipping at Steve’s, sucking on them, urging him to open for him, and Steve submitted to it, moaning with satisfaction when Bucky tasted him, tilting his face for better access. Bucky was done arguing with him, done with hearing Steve try to tell him that Bucky didn’t have to care, didn’t have to be involved, and, unbeknownst to Steve, that Bucky _didn’t have to fall ass over tea kettle in love with him_.

The kisses took on a life of their own. Electricity shot through Bucky when he felt Steve’s hands clutch at him, pulling him closer, and he hooked his ankle around Bucky’s calf where he sat on the stool. Bucky stood between Steve’s open knees and slowly drank kisses from Steve’s mouth. Nipping. Biting. Exploring the heat of his mouth. Listening to his uneven breathing and the little sounds that escaped him. Steve’s hand roamed over Bucky’s back, skimming over his muscles through the warm flannel shirt. Bucky’s hands cupped Steve’s jaw, feeling a light scratch of stubble, and he let his arms wind around Steve’s neck.

They withdrew with some difficulty, panting. Staring at each other with questions in their eyes.

“That was practice, right?” Steve blurted out. His eyes were glazed with passion and his face was flushed.

“That’s what _not_ to do in front of our parents, in case you were wondering,” Bucky confirmed as he kneaded Steve’s nape. Steve tilted his chin up and stared at Bucky. “Just… don’t tell them. Please don’t.”

“All right.”

“This is one of the only times you’ve kissed me first,” Steve mused.

“You keepin’ score, Rogers?”

“Hey. You’ve gotta admit, you’re the one who’s been slacking, if you wanna convince anyone that we’re really married.”

“Slacking, huh?”

“Yeah, you big slacker.”

“Then maybe we need to get this nailed down. So we can make it convincing.”

“I like it when you hold hands with me across the table.”

“Me, too.”

“Kissing me goodbye when you leave the bakery can stay, too.”

“How about when I greet you?”

“Throw a little of that in there, too. For appearance’s sake.”

“Were you… I mean, did you really want… fuck.”

“What? Did I want what?”

“Nothing. Just… it’s nothing.”

Steve released him, and Bucky’s hands slid free. He busied himself packing up the food for Sarah in a reusable shopping tote.

“Let’s go check on Ma.”

“That’s fine. I can bring her gift tomorrow, for her to open after her MRI.”

“She’ll enjoy that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is short. I have a backache and need a nap. There will be a part two to this chapter, and then we will move on. I know you're wondering how we will resolve their interrupted Christmas. I'm wondering that, too.


	12. At Times We Get Sick of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifts. And the boys sit down and talk. Sarah goes home, and things change again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m trying to get over the hump before my writer’s block hits again. This is about to get sad, but a little more focused. Steve and Bucky are going to get closer, however. 
> 
> Warnings for talk of hospice planning and end-of-life care. And lots of hospital jargon.

Around two in the afternoon, Becca texted Bucky. He called her back.

“Hey.”

“Hey. I know that dinner is out for you two, right?”

“Definitely not cooking it, Becks.”

“I get that. My question is, do you want me and Mom to take the wheel and cook the stuff that you bought?”

“I wouldn’t mind, if you want to come and get my house key?”

“Perfect. That keeps us from having to try to hit Safeway with the rest of the rabble. I hate making people work on the holiday, anyway, by going shopping on Christmas.”

Bucky felt guilty. They were supposed to host Christmas, but it would have to wait. He wasn’t in a good head space to roast a ham, anyway. Steve was at Sarah’s room, quietly reading from his Kindle while Sarah continued to nap. Bucky stepped out to make his call in the small guest waiting area. 

“Can I bring Wren with me to get the key?”

“Better leave her with Mom,” he suggested. “She’s under twelve. And seeing Sarah with all of the machines and IVs and things… it might make her upset.”

“Okay. That’s fine.”

“Ask Wrennie if she wants to make Sarah something, like a little drawing or a card.”

“She’d love that.”

“Sarah would, too.”

“Need anything from the apartment?”

“Can you bring my fleece blanket from the linen closet?”

“Can do.”

“Okay. I talked to Stevie about bringing her presents here so she can open them after her MRI in the morning. I’ll check with him to see if that is still the plan, or if he wants to wait until she gets out.”

“How long are they thinking of keeping her?”

“For the scans. She’s in observation, right now. They might keep her for a full three days.”

“Is she stable?”

“She’s on O2 and on some pretty good pain meds.”

“The loopy kind?”

“I don’t know. Dilaudid.”

“That stuff’s strong, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“Hope it keeps her comfortable.”

“She’s resting pretty well.”

“How’s Steve holding up?”

“He’s managing.” Which, roughly translated, meant “My husband is speaking in monosyllables again and climbing the walls.”

“Okay. I’m coming over. Let me know if you need anything, big brother.”

“Love you, Becca.”

“Love you, too, Buckster.”

Becca met Bucky at the front nursing station, and she eschewed signing in.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she told the nurse. “I’m not staying and visiting quite yet.”

“She wouldn’t mind seeing you,” Bucky told her.

“I want to get home to Wren, so Mom and Dad don’t have to watch her all day while she’s hopped up on sugar.”

“That’s fine.”

“I will come back, though. Are you and Steve planning to stay the night?”

“We’ll see what Steve wants.”

“I’m so sorry.” Becca hugged him hard. 

“Me, too.” Bucky sighed, patting her as she released him. “She has an MRI and more labs tomorrow. The PT wants to come by, too, and see if the way she’s leaning over her walker and ambulating is causing any of her chest pain. She might have pulled a muscle through here.” Bucky indicated his own chest muscles and arm pits.

“That might make things hurt,” Becca agreed. 

“They’re going to look at everything.”

“Good.”

“Don’t forget the pie ingredients, if you want those, too.”

“Mom mainly wants the ham and vegetables for the sides. You’re the pie guy. We can do something desserty later. We’re going to be eating gingerbread for days once you guys get back.”

“That’s half the fun of gingerbread houses.”

“See you soon, Bucky.”

“Later, Becks.” Her expression was sympathetic as she left him, tucking his housekey into her purse on her way out.

Bucky returned to Sarah’s room, and Steve looked up from his Kindle. “Becca was here?”

“Just for a minute. I’m letting her get the ham.”

Steve frowned. “Shit. Dinner. That’s right…”

“Mom can take care of it.”

“Okay.”

“She can, Stevie.”

“I didn’t want her to have to,” he said softly. He shook his head and smiled. “Okay. Maybe we’ll get a do-over and get to host something else for your folks.”

“Whenever you want. It’s no big deal. There are other nights and other dinners, Stevie.”

Sarah stirred and moaned from the bed, fidgeting to try to get comfortable. “M’thirsty,” she complained. Then she squinted up at Steve, who was already up from his chair, pouring her some water. “How long have you two been here?”

“For a little while,” Bucky told her as Steve filled her cup.

“I need to pee.”

“I’ll call the CNA.”

They pulled the curtains, and Steve, Bucky and the aide went through the circus of getting Sarah up out of bed, making sure she didn’t trip over any of her leads and cords on her trip to the commode, and then getting her back into bed and bundled back up in her blankets.

“That was a big production,” Sarah muttered. “And now, for my _next act_ …”

“Ma.” Steve chuckled under his breath. Sarah drank her water as Steve retucked her blankets.

“Want a little something to eat?”

“Buck made you a sandwich.”

“Bless your heart. I wouldn’t mind a bite.”

“Here, Ma.” Steve opened the box and passed her a paper napkin from the bag.

“So much better than that slop they bring up from the cafeteria.” She rolled her eyes with delight after the first bite. “Oh, that’s nice. Is that dijon mustard?”

“That’s the only mustard,” Bucky assured her.

“Keep this one, Steve.”

“M’tryin,’ Ma.”

Bucky and Steve shared a furtive look, and Bucky smiled to himself as he found the remote and turned on the TV.

*

They stayed until visiting hours were over.

“Do you want me to stay here tonight, Ma?”

“No, baby. Go get some sleep. My scan is around nine.”

“Mom and Dad live closer to here,” Bucky mentioned. “It’ll be a shorter trip for you if we stay there again. Unless you wanna sleep in your own bed.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sarah told Steve. “Go home. Have a little cocoa and some Christmas ham. Get some rest, please.” 

“You sure? I can have them bring the fold-out chair-“

“No. Go home and get some sleep.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “All right. Yer bossy, y’know that, Ma?”

“Don’t take no wooden nickles. Look both ways before crossing the street and don’t talk to strangers,” she told him. Sarah accepted his kiss, and one from Bucky, too. “Keep an eye on this guy, Bucky.”

“Somebody’s gotta do it, Ma.”

“You ain’t lying. Get outta here, boys.”

“Sweet dreams, Ma.”

“That’s what the drugs are for, baby.”

That unsettled Bucky and Steve, but they smiled as she waved weakly at them and resettled herself in bed.

It felt strange to walk out into the dark night after being there all day. They stopped at Steve’s car in the guest parking, first.

“How do you want to do this?”

“It’d make more sense to stay with your parents.”

“I’ll take my car back tonight, then, and we can come in yours here tomorrow, together, if you want?”

“That works.”

“Okay. See you at the house, Stevie.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve chastely, and Steve looked pleased that the gesture came from him.

He pondered the road ahead, wondering how he and Steve would make things work. How to make _this_ work.

By the time they pulled into Winifred and George’s driveway, Becca’s car was still out front. The smells of ham and brown sugar greeted them at the door, fading but distinctive.

“We missed out,” Steve murmured.

“No, we didn’t. They’re called ‘leftovers,’ pal.” Bucky grinned as he knocked, and he heard his mother’s familiar footsteps in the hall. She was in her pajamas when she greeted them, makeup already wiped off for the night. She smiled at Steve and pulled him inside for a hug.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. How is your mother doing, now?”

“She rested today. They ran some tests. She gave me a scare this morning.”

“That must have been awful. But they have a plan for her?”

“They’re working on it. She has a scan tomorrow, and then we’ll know more.”

“I’m glad the two of you are staying here tonight, then. Wren is already in bed, so you’ll have some peace and quiet. George and I are going to turn in, soon. I already put away the rest of the food, but there’s” plenty, if you’re hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“You and me both,” Steve chimed in.

They hung up their jackets and left their boots on the front mat, following Winifred into the kitchen in stocking feet and rubbing their eyes. She pulled out several Tupperware dishes and began to dish up their plates with ham, mashed potatoes, glazed yams, string beans, and dinner rolls. The gingerbread house was missing a couple of shrubs and a piece of the roof, but Bucky didn’t mind.

“Wren couldn’t wait.”

“I’m impressed that she even held out that long,” Bucky admitted.

“What time are you boys going back tomorrow?”

“Early,” Bucky told her. “We plan to leave a little before visiting hours begin again.”

“I’ll let you two eat in peace. The guest room is ready again, if you want it. Becca went out with a friend for a little while, so she’s taking the couch she gets back and we turn in.”

“That sounds fine, Mom.”

“Don’t stay up too late.” She hugged Steve and kissed the top of his head, stroked Bucky’s hair and accepted his kiss, before she rejoined George in the living room to watch a bit more of their movie.

They ate. Steve made appreciative sounds over the ham and yams, and he popped a Lactaid tablet before he ate the mashed potatoes. “Mom loves mashed potatoes.”

“We’ll bring her a plate, if you want.”

“We’ll see if they’ll let her have it.”

“Does she have diet restrictions?”

“Sometimes. When she was on chemo, she had so little appetite, anyway.”

“Do you think they’ll put her back on?”

“I really don’t know, Bucky.”

Yet, Bucky had the feeling he knew. And that it was eating at Steve.

“Hey, Steve? Do you want to open your gifts?” 

“I kinda forgot about them.”

“Well, would you mind doing it now? It’s still Christmas. Sort of.”

“Yeah. Kinda.” Steve looked resigned. “I know the house was mine.”

“I got you something else, too, punk. I wouldn’t just make you a present and then let everyone in the house eat it without getting you something that’s just for you.”

Steve’s smile was bashful. His cheeks flushed and he ducked his face. “Yeah, well… I hope you like yours. I made it, so there’s no gift receipt.”

Bucky huffed. “What’s this ‘gift receipt’ shit? I can’t wait to see what you gave me!” Bucky went to the tree while Steve cleared their plates and he retrieved their gifts, which they’d wrapped in Star Wars Christmas-themed paper covered in Yoda faces, Stormtrooper masks and Christmas wreaths. George and Winifred looked pleased as Bucky took the gifts to the kitchen table.

“Grab ours, too!” she told them. “And by the way, Steve, I loved my scarf!”

“You’re welcome,” he called back. Bucky brought over the rest of the short stack of gifts, and they read the labels, dividing them between them.

“One from Becca. Yours. One for me from Mom. One for you from Pop. And this one is from Wren…”

“Cute.” It was a tiny, brown paper gift back from Michaels, and Wren had drawn candy canes on it with crayon. Steve looked delighted. “I’m keeping the bag.”

“Right?”

“Oh, look.” It was a puzzle piece picture frame. “All the schools make these lately, I’ve noticed.”

“Well, now you have one.” Steve smiled at it as he set it down on the table.

“I need a picture to put into it.”

“We will, Stevie. We’ll get one.”

They opened their presents, holding them up for each other and taking pictures of each other’s reactions for Facebook and Instagram posts. Steve looked bleary-eyed but happy. Bucky made a cheesy smile when he held up his packages of underwear and socks.

“Use a fun filter for that one,” he told Steve.

“I’m giving you big puppy eyes and ears.” Steve fiddled with his phone, smirking down at the photo. “M’gonna make you look like _such_ a dork.”

“You’re a jerk!”

“You’ve never looked better, pal.”

“Open mine, next.”

Bucky grinned down at it as he picked it up. “You didn’t put it in a blue Tiffany’s bag, so it must not be a Rolex.”

“You never know. I could have just tricked you by wrapping it different,” Steve teased, but he looked a little anxious. Anticipating Bucky’s reaction.

“Hmmmmm…” Bucky turned it over and carefully opened the flap where it had been taped closed. As he spread apart the paper, he noticed it was the back of a frame that could be hung on a wall. “Oh, wow…” He turned it over and his mouth dropped open in shock. “Stevie… is that my _car_? In front of my _shop_???!” He held up the framed, airbrushed drawing and marveled at it, letting the wrapping drop from his lap. “Oh, my God. This is…”

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like. I guess… we never really talk about what you like, and I figured…”

“Stevie… you put so much time into this… wow. Just, _wow_.”

“D’you like it?”

Steve’s voice sounded uncertain, even anxious, and he was giving Bucky an expectant, guarded smile.

“Do I like it? No. Of course not. It’s _awful._ ” Bucky contradicted this comment by hugging the drawing tightly to its chest and kissing the edge of the frame. Steve broke into low snickers and blushed again. “Baby, I love this so much. It’s just… thank you, Stevie.”

And then, Bucky rose from his chair, cradling the drawing in one arm to give himself room to thank Steve properly. He bent down and met Steve halfway, catching Steve’s incredulous, pleased look before their lips met. It was chaste and soft. Bucky grinned at Steve and chucked him under his chin. Steve just stared at him. His expression was hard to read.

“I married a talented guy.”

“Knew I was good for something.”

“Are you two making with the kissy face?” Becca yawned and headed for the cabinet, having just caught their moment. She smirked at them, and Bucky felt himself blush. “Too bad there’s no mistletoe for you two goofballs to stand under.”

“Didn’t you just go to bed?”

Becca stuck her tongue out at him. “And, hey, you’re _welcome_ for the ham you’re scarfing down. Mom and I tag-teamed it.”

“After you liberated it from _my_ freezer.”

Becca snorted into her glass of water, almost horking it through her nose. Steve snickered.

“It was good ham, though. You two did a great job on it,” Steve told her graciously. 

Becca wiped her chin on her bathrobe’s sleeve. “I’m glad you two got to come home and enjoy some. How is your mom doing?”

“She was all right when we left.”

“Okay. All right, then.” Becca drank the last gulp of water and deposited the glass in the sink before she hugged Steve and Bucky good night. Bucky could tell Becca wanted to ask more, but she retreated from the kitchen to give them some space.

“Hey,” Bucky told him, “open your other present.”

“My other… oh.” Steve looked at the small stack of gifts and found one scrawled with his name. He carefully peeled back the wrapping paper and struggled with the tape along the side of the gift box. “Okay… it doesn’t want me to have it,” he joked. “Here we go.” He lifted off the lid, and immediately, his face broke into a grin. Steve snickered as he held up the shirt. “Man, Barnes… you’re the worst.”

“Nice, huh?”

Steve turned it around for Bucky to read, rolling his eyes. “Honestly, Bucky!?” The white cotton tee read “If Found, Return to Bucky.”

“I couldn’t resist.”

“You could resist a _little_.”

“Might help you to know we’re gonna match.”

“What?”

“Look in the box again.”

Steve noticed that there was a second shirt nestled in the tissue paper, and he withdrew it, then balled it up and tossed it at his husband, hitting him square in the face with it. Steve sputtered, _giggling_ at the second tee that read “I’m Bucky.”

“We’re gonna look awesome.”

“We’re gonna look like a coupla dorks.”

To Steve’s amusement, though, Winifred got them matching pajama pants with gingerbread men on them, made of soft, cozy fleece. Becca got each of them commuter mugs from the Disney store. 

Steve yawned and got up to clear the dishes. “I’m beat, Buck.”

“Leave that for tomorrow. We’ll put away the food and wash up in the morning.”

“I hate leaving that for Mom.”

Winifred was “Mom” now, Bucky mused. That warmed him.

“We’ll take care of it first thing,” Bucky promised.

“It’s no big deal, Steve. Go to bed,” Winifred called softly from the living room. Steve gave a tired little smile and stretched, scratching his stomach as he left the kitchen with Bucky in tow.

Their overnight bag was still in the guest room, and the bed was ready to climb into. Steve and Bucky took turns using the sink to brush their teeth, and Steve stripped down to his undershirt and boxers, setting his reading glasses on the small vanity. He groaned in gratitude as he climbed into bed, letting his limbs sprawl. “Errrgggghh…”

“You’re making that bed sound good, pal.”

“Hurry up, turn off the lights and get in,” Steve complained. “Before you catch a chill.” He opened the flap of the covers, nodding at Bucky to take the hint. Bucky kept on his t-shirt and briefs and climbed in before the faint chill of the room could seep into his flesh, and there was Steve, all warm skin and long limbs, and Bucky instinctively eased against him, snaring him like an octopus. Steve huffed as Bucky settled his forehead against Steve’s neck. “Just make yourself at home there, pal.”

“I am,” Bucky murmured. Steve smelled good and his skin was so warm. Steve’s arms wrapped around Bucky, and he fidgeted a little to shift them for a better fit.

Perfect.

Bucky felt all the day’s tensions leak out of his body as he caught the small throb of Steve’s pulse. 

“This wasn’t how you wanted to spend Christmas,” Bucky admitted. “If it means anything… if it helps ya at all, Rogers, I’m glad you’re here for it with me.”

Steve sighed, and his arms tightened around Bucky. “Shut up, jerk. This is our first Christmas together. Even if it got off to a shaky start.” Bucky knew Steve was struggling to make things less awkward between them, he knew, even in the dark, that Steve’s expression was strained. 

“I kinda wanted it to be special for you. I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m just so sorry about Sarah, what she’s been going through-“

Steve’s breath hitched, and he sniffled sharply, cutting off Bucky’s words. Bucky’s hand hesitated for a moment before he reached up to stroke Steve’s shoulder, squeezing it. He heard Steve’s breathing shift, hitching again, before it came out in low, soft shudders. He was crying. 

“I’m here if you need me, Stevie.”

He felt Steve nod into the pillow, and his questing hand found Bucky’s head in the dark, cradling his cheek in his large palm, moving to stroke Bucky’s hair, needing the contact to ground himself. “I’m not going anywhere.” His breaths were sharp, short gasps that made his chest tense with each one, and Bucky felt a hot tear drip down his jaw, and onto his neck.

“S’not… not fair,” Steve told him brokenly.

“It’s not,” Bucky agreed, as his own eyes began to burn.

“Fucking… cancer. I’m not ready to lose her, Bucky, I-I c-can’t…”

“No, I know, baby. I know you’re not.”

“I don’t know… what to do, I don’t… I can’t… _think_ …”

“I want to be here for you. I want to help. Just tell me how I can help, baby. Okay?”

Steve nodded again, but he couldn’t manage words yet. Bucky felt Steve’s fingers plowing through his hair, and Bucky rubbed his arms and shoulders, remaining a tangible presence against him. “I love her so… so much… Buck, I…I don’t… I can’t do this.”

“You’re doing it. You’ve been doing all of this, Stevie. You’ve been taking good care of her. You’ve been so damned good to her, Stevie. She loves you so much.” His sob came out as a low, keening whine, and he tried to swallow it down, but Bucky patted him, giving him a little shake. “Let it out. Don’t hold onto it, baby, it’s okay. You’ve been holding onto it for too long.”

The rhythmic, harsh breaths paused, then changed to low, rough sobbing, and Bucky held onto to Steve tightly, just letting him release his pain and grief for the mother who cared for him and protected him so fiercely, who always advocated for him. Loved him. Been strong for him. 

Bucky felt angry at the world, not only for taking Sarah, slowly, cruelly, but for Steve, having to deal with this by himself for so long. With no one to hold him or to tell him it would be okay. Steve Rogers deserved someone strong to lift him up and to hold him, and Bucky sure as hell had the arms for the job. Steve wept, dampening Bucky’s skin, and Bucky felt his lips brush his hairline briefly; his own lips found Steve’s collarbone in response, making the brief statement that it was all right, that Steve had that privilege, that it was welcome.

“We’ll handle it. I’m gonna help you, Stevie. We’ll do right by her, okay?” Steve nodded, and he cupped Bucky’s cheek again.

“Thank you. Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s okay. I want to do this with you.”

“Okay.” His voice sounded small and uncertain and so little like Steve that Bucky’s throat clogged. “I know… I know things have been, they’ve been hard, Buck. Just, I wanna tell you that I’m glad that we did this. I’m glad we agreed to get married. I was worried you’d think I was too much of a hard case-“

“Stevie. No. Never.”

“I’m not the easiest guy to live with.”

Bucky almost laughed. “No. _Sam_ was the easiest guy to live with, but he got sick of me.”

“Did he?”

Laughter through tears. Bucky pressed on.

“Yep. Told me ‘Nice knowing you, Barnes!’ and beat feet.” 

“He didn’t appreciate your sparkling personality and cutting wit?”

“No. No, _he didn’t_. He got engaged,” Bucky explained, but he wanted to bring Steve back and lighten his mood before they settled in. “She’s pretty great.”

“Hope those two are having a more conventional engagement than we did.”

“Uh, buddy? That ain’t hard.”

Steve’s chest shook slightly beneath Bucky, and his lips brushed Bucky’s forehead again. 

“Just so you know, Steve, you’re not hard to live with. Not at all. Okay?”

“High praise,” he sighed. Yet he didn’t sound convinced.

“That’s as high as it gets from me, pal. This is me, buttering you up.”

“You sweet talker, you.” Steve yawned, and Bucky felt his body relax, muscles unspooling from their tight knots. “G’night, Buck.”

“G’night, babe.”

“What’s with the pet names?” Steve muttered.

“We’re using them, now. Deal with it, buddy.”

“When did we decide that?”

But Bucky sighed, patting Steve reassuringly, and Steve listened to his breathing slow and deepen, punctuated by a low hum. “Buck.”

Bucky’s breath steamed Steve’s neck. His hand twitched where it still held onto Steve, and his fingers tightened their grip on him, as though he fought some unseen effort to pull him loose.

“Okay,” Steve murmured. “Night, baby.”

He stroked Bucky’s hair until he fell asleep himself. His rest was troubled, and he still woke more than once through the night, but Bucky’s warm bulk occupying the bed, always within convenient reach, helped him to drift back off every time.

*

Bucky woke up with cramped limbs; his arm and shoulder were throbbing from when he had rolled over onto it during the night, no doubt when he was spooning Steve, and he had a crick in his neck, but…

He woke up as the little spoon this time, and he felt Steve’s heavy, hot breath fanning over his shoulder and stirring the back of his hair. His arm muscles kept twitching, making his hand jerk against Bucky’s chest. _Little familiar, there, pal._ Steve’s knees were pushed into the crook of Bucky’s, and his flesh felt so warm against him. Bucky saw the window panes glittering with frost; fresh flurries drifted down against a bleak gray sky. Great. Bucky didn’t look forward to either of them having to drive in it. He lay there for a few moments, contemplating the day and making a mental list.

Coffee.  
Showers.  
Bundle up.  
Check in with Wren to see how she liked her presents.  
Pack their bags to go home.  
Text Nat and Sharon.  
Go see Sarah and talk to her doctors.  
Be there for Steve.  
Be prepared for Steve to possibly rebuff him again and grow a thick skin.  
Be there for Steve, anyway.

In the meantime, though, it was so hard to get up with Steve snuggled against his back, breathing in the scent of his skin. Bucky let his foot drift back to tap Steve’s, rubbing the ball of it against his ticklish sole. Steve twitched and grunted, but he kept snoring. Bucky could swear that he felt drool.

“Up an’ at ‘em, sweetie pie,” Bucky rasped. It hit him that he had probably snored half the night, too, judging by how hoarse he was.

Steve shuddered out a sigh. He didn’t completely remove his arm from Bucky, just rubbed his eyes over Bucky’s shoulders as he yawned, then replaced his arm around his ribcage. “Time’s it?”

“Six-thirty. Might wanna get a move on to beat the homebound traffic, Stevie.”

“Kay. S’fine.” Steve stretched, rolling onto his back and releasing Bucky. “You can shower first. M’gonna make the coffee.”

“I can do it.”

“You take longer to do your hair.”

Well, then. Fair enough.

Bucky already missed Steve’s warmth as he propelled himself out of bed and headed for the shower. He backtracked to the linen pantry and found two fresh towels that smelled like Bounce and that were new enough not to have any bald spots. He tossed Steve’s onto the bed, but Steve was already down the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen. Bucky realized that he would have to get by with the same clothes from Christmas Eve, since they had only packed for one night. He pondered whether Steve would want to go home and re-pack their bags for an additional night’s stay with his parents, if Sarah needed another night at the hospital. There was the chance he would want to sleep in his own bed, though. Or that he might take a guest couch in Sarah’s room. Bucky mulled this as he stepped under the hot spray and lathered up. 

They needed to make plans. Sarah had a destination at discharge, but she needed a plan for how to remain there, other than oxygen delivery. And there were financial considerations, too. Bucky was doing well with the bakery. In a few months, he would be out of the red from his original loan from when he opened his doors. Steve was already buried in medical bills for Sarah’s labs, scans, and oncology appointments. The hospital stay was going to break him. Bucky didn’t know if Sarah’s coverage had a lifetime max, but the out-of-pocket had to be through the _roof_.

They needed to work this out, he decided. Bucky rinsed his hair and shaved his face while he was in there, not wanting to see his mother-in-law with dark scruff in addition to the dark circles under his eyes. Not a great look.

When Bucky came out, hair slick as a seal’s, with the towel draped around his hips, he finally got a good look at Steve. He had bedhead and heavy bags under his eyes, not to mention a little pillow crease in his cheek. He handed Bucky a cup of coffee, and he was gripping his own pretty tightly. “Here y’go, Buck.” Then he frowned. “You’re standing a little funny. Can you straighten up both your shoulders?”

“Slept on it wrong,” Bucky admitted.

“Did you pack your pills?”

“I’ll take one with breakfast, Stevie.”

“Don’t wait until it hurts too much to function,” Steve nagged.

“I’m fine!” Bucky huffed, but Steve shrugged, and he gave him a crooked little smile.

“I caught your elbow in the face once, last night.”

Bucky felt sheepish. “Was I that bad?”

“No. You didn’t crop dust me this time.” Steve’s grin was unrepentant, and Bucky brandished a pillow at him, but Steve held up his hand in surrender.

“Coffee! HOT coffee! Don’t!”

“Yeah, you got lucky this time, pal.” Steve’s lips twisted, and Bucky could have sworn that his blue eyes flicked over him in his dripping state before he went back to his own cup. 

“Hey, Buck?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you always had that little birthmark on your shoulder?”

“I, uh… I guess so.”

“Just wondering.”

Oh, yeah. Steve was looking. But before Bucky could ponder it, Steve headed into the shower, taking his coffee with him. Bucky got dressed, mashed some gel into his hair and yanked it back into a half-ponytail. He brushed his teeth with almost the last dab of Colgate from a flattened tube while Steve washed.

“Smells like dorm rats in here,” Becca mock-complained. “What is that, Axe?”

“Old Spice shower gel,” Bucky argued. “We’ve got more class than that!”

“That much,” Becca told him, holding up her finger and thumb, with a teeny sliver of space in-between. Iago padded up to them from Becca’s old room and mewed at Bucky, headbutting his kneecap. 

“Iago likes it just fine,” he chided as he picked up his cat and scritched under her chin, making her purr in high decibels. “Hi, baby girl.”

“Gads, that’s sickening. Is that coffee I smell?”

“Stevie was thinking of you. Knock yourself out.” Bucky fed his cat, and she lost interest in him, leaping down to attack the bowl of Iam’s. Bucky went back to retrieve his coffee cup and top it off before he started breakfast.

“You guys have to be out pretty soon,” Becca said. “Let me do that. Go pack your things and make sure you have everything. Like your wallet, your phone charger-“

“When did you become such a nag?”

“Uncle Bucky!” Wren ran into the kitchen and tackled Bucky around his waist. “Santa brought me presents!”

“Wow! What did he bring you?”

“I got Legos, and I got ‘Weekend with Wendell!’ And I got an Elsa doll, too!”

“Is ‘Weekend with Wendell’ a book?”

“Uh-huh,” she told him, nodding. “I have ‘Chrysanthemum,’ too.”

“She loves those books,” Becca remarked. Bucky realized that Steve must have asked Becca before he did his own shopping for Wren.

“And he gave me something else, too!” Wren released Bucky and darted out of the kitchen, startling Iago, who sounded disgruntled as she went back to her breakfast, back still hunched. Wren came back with a rectangular canvas and proudly showed it to Bucky. It was a cartoony portrait of his niece dressed in an “Elsa” gown, in a girlish pink frame decorated with colorful glass jewels. Steve’s handiwork. Bucky grinned at it fondly. “It’s pretty!” Wren bragged. “Santa knows I love Elsa!”

“Yes, he does. Sharp guy, that Santa.” Bucky handed it back to her and winked over at Becca, who was already cracking eggs into a bowl.

“I’m gonna put it in my room when I get home,” she added. 

“Once you put away the rest of your toys. Make sure you remember to take them all home, kiddo. We have to pack our stuff to go.”

Wren pouted and stomped her foot. “I wanna stay with Grandma and Grandpa!”

“We’re going to go sledding with them today, punkin, but you still have to pack your things for when it’s time to go home. Make sure you have your toys packed in your suitcase, okay?”

Wren was still pouting, but she hurried back in the direction of her room. Becca sighed.

“It’s always a relief when this holiday’s over. When did it start being a pain in the ass?”

“It was _always_ a pain in the ass.”

“Steve enjoys it.”

“That’s because he’s not me.”

“So, not a grumbling, grumpy bastard, then?”

“Hey!”

“You _do_ grumble, buddy.”

“Buck, you almost ready?” Steve appeared in the doorway, and Bucky was shocked at his appearance. Glasses and shoes already on, comb tracks in his damp hair, buttoned up, tucked in, and ready to go. 

“That was quick.”

“Didn’t wanna waste too much time.” He looked anxious. Bucky watched him refill his commuter cup that Becca gave him as a gift with more coffee, not bothering to add any sugar.

“The eggs will be ready in a minute. I have leftover ham for breakfast burritos,” Becca explained. “Give me three minutes, and they’ll be ready for you to take with you.”

Steve beamed and gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I like having a sister.”

“Don’t let this guy tell you any tales,” Becca said, giving Bucky the stink-eye.

“They’re all true,” Bucky said, shrugging. Becca stuck out her tongue at him.

“I’m gonna spit in your burrito, now.”

“Extra seasoning,” Steve suggested.

“Special sauce,” Becca corrected him.

“Mom, Becca’s bein’ gross!” Bucky called out.

“Grab your bag, Buck. Let’s go ahead and load the car.” Steve sounded huffy, and Bucky beat feet back to the bedroom without argument, loading his arms with their gifts and their duffles. He headed for the front door, and Steve hurried ahead of him to open it.

“Put your jacket on!”

“Hurry up and open the car, and I won’t need it!” But the air outside was already frigid, and Bucky wasn’t loving being out in just his thermal shirt sleeves. Steve hurried ahead of him again and unlocked the trunk and helped Bucky pack it. He set his framed drawing on top of the pile so it wouldn’t get crushed. They hurried back inside before the cold air could burn their noses and throats, and Bucky stomped his feet against the chill as he came inside. “Ugh… not looking forward to three more months of that.”

“I need to check Ma’s windows when we get home,” Steve mentioned. “We might need to get some of that insulating plastic for them. They felt drafty a couple of days ago.”

“We’ll hit Target tomorrow, if you want?”

“Cheaper at Walmart.”

“Pal, we’re not going anywhere near Walmart before January. It’s gonna be a madhouse with people exchanging and returning shit. And Target might have a better selection of curtains, if you want to see if they have lined ones. Something heavier to block the worst of the draft.”

Steve smiled over the rim of his cup. “That might work.”

“I pull my head outta my ass once in a while.”

“Language,” Winifred hissed as she entered the kitchen, right before swatting Bucky on his hindquarters for emphasis. “I saw you pack the car. Are you two heading back to the hospital?”

“In a minute, right after we grab a quick bite,” Bucky explained as he hugged her. Winifred was still in her bathrobe, but she had already groomed her hair.

Becca hastily rolled two flour tortillas with scrambled eggs and chopped ham for them, warming them for a minute over the flat burner. “Okay. Bucky, grab me the foil.”

“That looks good,” Steve told her.

“There’s still a lot of ham leftover, if you want to come back for it later.”

“I was thinking of making soup,” Winifred said. “Potato chowder?”

“Ooh.” Steve raised his brows. “I’m glad I married into a family that can cook.”

“Well, that explains so much,” Becca joked. Bucky gave her a stony look. “What?” she fired back. “Had to be some reason why he snapped you up, buddy!”

“There was plenty of reason,” Steve said, and his eyes were dancing behind his glasses. 

“You’re not off the hook yet.” Bucky pouted for good measure.

“Awww.” Steve headlock-hugged him and kissed his cheek. “Not even now?” Winifred and Becca grinned. 

“No.”

Steve kissed him again, just another little peck. “Not even a _little_ off the hook?”

“You’re a punk.” Steve made puppy dog eyes at him. Bucky rolled his and finally kissed him back. 

“Awwwwww!” Winifred and Becca chorused. 

“Are you guys being mushy again?” George remarked as he walked past the doorway to the living room. “That sounded mushy.”

“It was, Daddy,” Becca confirmed.

“I’m staying out here,” George said.

“We’re heading out, Pop,” Bucky called.

“Watch the roads. Watch out for black ice!”

“We will!” Steve called out. 

They headed out, already driving at a slow, steady crawl due to the snow, but it grew worse because of the traffic. “I hate this,” Steve grumbled through a mouthful of burrito.

“We’ll make it, Stevie.” They enjoyed their coffee and breakfast and listened to a podcast on Steve’s phone to avoid the r&b Christmas renditions on every radio station. By the time they turned on the off-ramp for downtown, Steve was already anxious and clipped with his responses, and Bucky braced himself for the morning to come. Because of the traffic, Steve had to circle the block twice before he could turn into the guest parking lot at the medical center. Bucky got out, grabbing the phone charger on his way. 

“Let me renew my parking permit for the day at the garage. I’ll meet you up there, okay, Stevie?”

“Don’t take too long.”

Bucky winced. He knew Steve didn’t mean for his voice to sound that hard, and normally, after caffeine and carbs, it wouldn’t. Bucky waved as they parted and went to the parking concierge’s kiosk and purchased a day permit for his Mustang. He headed straight to the guest lobby, where he found Steve talking to the admissions desk.

He overheard him ask, “Has my mother gone to Radiology yet?”

“I can look that up for you, sir.”

“Sarah Rogers.”

“Okay, let’s see… okay. I see that they haven’t checked her in quite yet, so she might still be on the floor. Let me call the nursing station, all right?”

“Thank you.” Steve bounced on his heels, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. Bucky glanced around the lobby and was dismayed to see it packed. Illness didn’t take a holiday.

“She’s still on the floor. You can head to her room.”

“Thank you.” They caught the elevator up to Oncology and met the same nurse from before. She smiled up at them.

“Glad you made it back. Your mom’s still NPO, but we ordered her breakfast tray for later.”

“Good.”

“Just sign in really quick and head on back.” They snapped on their bracelets and headed for Sarah’s room, finding her sitting up in a recliner by the bedside, already wearing a hospital gown, a cardigan and her slip-proof socks. She had a couple of bath blankets draped around her and was wearing her oxygen lead, which didn’t hinder her smile.

“Please tell me you two got to have a little Christmas after you left here, boys.”

“Mom made sure we did,” Bucky assured her. “Wasn’t the same without you.” He bent down and hugged her gently, and she huffed a laugh.

“Listen to this guy, Steve. Trying to put one over on me with all that sweet talk.” Steve bent down and kissed her cheek.

“It’s hot in here, now.”

“That’s because you still have your coat on, bub. Take a load off! Make yourself at home.” They laid their outer gear and gloves on one of the guest chairs. Bucky, always the rebel, sat on the rolling stool stamped “Staff Only” in large block letters and slid a few inches across the floor. 

Steve side-eyed him. “Can’t you read?”

“I can. It says it’s the fun chair.” He proved that by scooching back in the opposite direction from before.

“Can’t take you anywhere.”

“They said they’re coming to get me in about ten minutes,” Sarah told them.

“Make sure they give you enough blankets,” Steve said.

“They know the drill. I get to take a little ride again in front of all these pretty people.” Bucky sympathized with her. It felt weird being wheeled anywhere on a gurney.

“Did your labs come back?”

“They said they did. Just gotta wait for the doctor to show.”

Steve exhaled loudly through his nose.

“Find something good on TV,” Sarah suggested. They flipped through the meager selection of channels twice before settling on “Chopped.” It was too early even for morning talk shows, and Bucky wasn’t in the mood to watch the news. He took that time to text Nat and Sharon, to let him know he wasn’t going to be in the shop for the day and to give them the short version of Sarah’s status. Nat texted back frowning emojis and hearts. Sharon was a little more eloquent, sending him a brief “praying for you” with praying hands. And then, a quick “hug Steve.”

“Sharon sent you a hug.” Steve glanced at Bucky’s phone and nodded.

“Well, get up and do it, you big goofball!” Sarah scolded. Bucky smirked and stood from the stool, leaned over and hugged Steve, who took it in stride and gave Bucky a tiny shove in umbrage.

By the time they got through the entrée portion of “Chopped,” Sarah’s transporter arrived. “Ready to roll?”

“Ready, Freddy.”

They scanned her bracelet and transferred her lead to the O2 tank on the gurney, hit the brake, and carefully helped her onto it, bundling her back into her own blankets and an extra one they brought for the journey, still warm from the pantry. Sarah made an appreciative noise. “Always feels so good when they first come out.” She shrugged down into it more deeply.

“We’re going to walk her down.”

“That’s fine. We have a waiting area down there, too, in Radiology and Nuclear Medicine.”

Bucky brought the charger cord and their phones, along with his jacket because the corridors were chilly. Once they got into the elevator, Sarah remarked, “Remember how whenever you rode the elevator when you were little, you used to like to jump as it started going down?”

“Becca and I did that,” Bucky told her. Steve just nodded, but his smile lacked wattage. They checked in at Radiology, and their transporter nodded to the small seating area and pile of old magazines.

“There you go, guys. It’ll be about an hour.”

“Hasta la vista, babies,” Sarah called over her shoulder, looking less than thrilled.

“Have fun, Ma,” Bucky replied.

“Yeah, yeah…”

Steve reached after her for a moment, then retracted his hand, using it rub his nape instead as she was wheeled through the double doors. He sat beside Bucky for a few seconds, then hopped back up.

“I’m getting another coffee. Want one?”

“That’s fine, babe.”

And he was off. Predictably. Bucky sighed, knowing the next hour was going to be long and involve a lot of fidgeting. From the _both_ of them.

So. Much. Fidgeting.

Steve was a world class, champion Foot Jiggler. Bucky gave up on the Sports Illustrated article about three pages in when Steve started poking him every other minute to point at the television, which continued their episode of “Chopped.” They drank the tasteless hospital coffee, and Steve hopped up again to bring back a small bag of trail mix and an Odwalla energy bar that proved that lemon and ginger wasn’t a good choice for an energy bar. Bucky longed to scrape it off his tongue with a pad of sandpaper.

“That was vile.”

“Yeah.”

Steve got up and paced. Sat down. Paced again. Sat down. Bucky squeezed his knee, and Steve took his hand for a minute to ground himself.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer, babe.”

“I hope she doesn’t end up with another headache,” Steve fretted. “Those earplugs suck.”

“Yeah, they do,” one of the other guests chimed in. Bucky nodded emphatically. 

“I’m going to ask the receptionist how long it’s going to be.” By Bucky’s estimation, they had at least another half an hour.

“I’m going to call Nat.”

Steve looked irritated for a moment, but then said, “Tell her hi. Ask her how she liked Sharon’s gift.”

Bucky suppressed a smile. He’d been wondering that, too.

Nat sounded very serious when she answered the phone. He heard the sounds of customers and the mixer running in the background. “Hey. We miss you. How is she?”

“Still getting scanned.” Bucky lowered his voice while Steve spoke to the receptionist. “Steve’s freaking out.”

“You would if it was your mom. We did when it was you.”

“I know. It’s hard to see him like this.”

“Hug him when he needs it.”

“He won’t always admit when he needs it.”

“Hug him, anyway.”

“I’ve been hugging him when _I_ need it.”

“At least you’re admitting it. You’re good for each other, James.”

“How’s business?”

“Absolutely nuts. People came in here for their coffee and the rest of the Christmas cookies. You’d think they’d have had enough sugar by now.”

“How did you like Sharon’s present?”

Nat made a little cooing, uncharastically giggly noise, and Bucky grinned. “I _loved_ it! I have the sweetest, most beautiful, caring fiancee in the whole wide world of ever!”

“Oh, Lord… that’s sickening.”

“You should see it, Bucky, it’s so beautiful! I even wore it in to show it off! It’s all sparkly and perfect!” Bucky visualized Nat holding our her wrist to customers. Steve rejoined him and slumped against Bucky’s side as he sat down, knocking Bucky;s knee with his.

“That Nat?”

“Yup.” He handed over the phone, and Steve grinned smugly.

“Are you wearing the bracelet?” He grinned even more widely at her response. “Show-off,” he muttered back to her, laughing gently. They chatted for a minute, and Bucky went back to his magazine. Then Steve handed back his phone.

“Sharon wants to say hi.”

“Hey,” Sharon told him, sounding furtive and rushed. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine for now.”

“Hug the big guy. Seriously, _really_ hug him. Hug Sarah too. We love her, Bucky. We totally do. I hate seeing you and Steve go through this.”

“We’ll manage, kiddo. Thanks for covering the shop.”

“That’s your New Year’s present. Nat and I decided that’s our gift to you. Stay off until New Year’s Day so you can get Sarah settled. We’ll do the supply orders and bank runs and get that wedding cake out the door.”

“Shit, that’s right.” He’d forgotten the Parker wedding in all the fuss. “You saw the design they picked? They already paid in full.”

“Yup. Rhinestone cake stand. It’s gonna be gorgeous.”

“Okay. That’s fine. Just, let me know if there any problems.”

“Bullshit. I’ll do no such thing. You take care of Steve and Sarah.”

“Okay, okay!”

We love you!” Nat called over Sharon’s shoulder.

“We do,” Sharon confirmed. “Take care of our boy. Take care of you.”

“Happy New Year’s,” he told them before ringing off. 

“Little early for that, Buck.”

“They’re going to cover the shop for the rest of the week,” Bucky told him.

“Oh. Wow. That’s… wow.”

“Yeah.”

“That was nice.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Steve’s foot jittered again. It stopped when Bucky took his hand and squeezed it, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.

By the time Sarah emerged, she looked tired but grateful. “That was hell,” she muttered.

“Let’s go see what they have for your breakfast,” Steve reminded her.

“My head hurts.”

That brought back Steve’s frown.

When they got back to the room, they pulled the blinds to darken the room and muted the volume on the set. Sarah climbed back into bed and Steve tucked her back into the nest of blankets and pillows and asked the aide for a cool rag for her head.

“Ugh… that was lousy.” Sarah closed her eyes, and her furrowed brows made her look so much like Steve.

“Want some juice, Ma? Or some crackers?”

“Later, baby. I just wanna shake off this headache, and I’ll be fine.” But Steve cajoled her until she agreed to a few sips of 7-Up with two Tylenol and a soda cracker. 

“We have a microwave in the pantry,” the aide explained. “We can warm her tray back up whenever she’s ready to eat it.” Steve hovered over Sarah, rubbing her back.

“Like reheating a rubber rain boot,” Sarah grumbled.

“Her diet is bland, but still pretty much ‘regular,’” the aide explained. “You could bring her in something, if it isn’t too fatty, or salty, or overly spicy.”

“Want a muffin, Ma?” Bucky offered.

“Don’t go to all that trouble, sweetheart,” she murmured as she wiggled into the pillows to get comfortable. Bucky listened to the low whistle of her O2 where it fed from the wall. Sarah’s monitors emitted regular, rhythmic beeps and dings. Steve kept retucking the edges of her blankets to keep out the phantom draft, even though the room felt like a sauna.

She napped. Bucky dozed in the recliner while Steve worked on a sudoku puzzle that the aide brought back along with the front pages of the newspaper. Bucky startled awake at the rap on the door. The doctor came in with a cautious smile, dressed in his lab coat and carrying a clipboard.

“You’re back! Bright and early.”

“What’s going on, Doc?” Bucky greeted.

“Did you get everything back?” Bucky realized that it was shortly after one o’clock and wondered where the time went.

“What’s the good word?” Sarah raised the head of her bed, looking more alert and refreshed.

The doctor hesitated. Then, “We know why your chest has been hurting. The CT showed me that your lungs are clear.”

“How about her heart?” Steve crossed his arms and hovered by the edge of the bed.

“No anomalies yet. The MRI is a bit more conclusive.” He opened a large envelope and pulled out a dark film, placing up on the light panel with the small metal clips. He flicked the switch, illuminating the image of Sarah’s ribs. “She has some stress fractures. You can see them on the left side. That has been causing her all the discomfort. Her labs strongly reflect the loss of calcium, much like you experienced when you were first diagnosed.”

“Calcium?” Bucky asked.

“I kept wondering why I had to piss like a race horse when I was diagnosed,” Sarah told him. “Had to pee every hour. Turned out my calcium was leaching into my bloodstream and ending up in my kidneys. That was the bone cancer, hard at work.”

“We’re seeing calcium in your urine, and your white blood cells are elevated again.” The doctor paused for a moment to let it sink in.

“So, the chemo isn’t working anymore. Is it?” Steve looked like he was trying to swallow down a lump, and Bucky felt his heart drop down into his shoes. His throat felt tight, ,and he watched his mother-in-law harness her usual sass, as though he’d just announced that there was a flea market down the street selling pink lawn flamingoes.

“Well, yippee. Whaddya know?” Sarah huffed, shrugging her shoulders. “Whaddya know about that?”

“Ma.”

“Stevie, don’t. Just don’t, sweetheart.” She reached for him and pulled him close, and Bucky was by his side before he even realized he’d gotten out of his chair. “It’s all right. This means no more chemo. Okay? It’s all right. No more purple gloves.” Bucky knew she meant the chemo cleaning gloves Steve had to use at Sarah’s apartment between treatments, even though the housekeeping staff kept things ship-shape. 

“Ma…” His jaw trembled, and he tried to smile for her. He sighed when Bucky rubbed his nape, trying to ground him, just trying to be there for him.

“The chemo isn’t slowing the cancer as much as we’d hoped. I’m sorry that things have taken this turn in your treatment.”

“Yeah, you and me both, Doc.” Sarah’s eyes were glistening, and she tightened her grip on Steve’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “So. What’s the plan?”

“I’d like you to speak with our palliative care specialist.”

Bucky felt a little faint. 

“So, I’ll get the _good_ drugs.”

“Comfort care,” Steve murmured. He sounded unhinged, and his hand shook as he reached up to wipe his eyes. Bucky reached for his glasses, taking them from him and handing him a handful of the cheap Kleenex. “Thanks, Buck,” he mouthed. Bucky nodded and rubbed his back.

“Sure, Stevie.”

“We can send you home with physical therapy services for home, to help you build your strength if-“

“No. I don’t want more people in an out than I already have,” Sarah told him firmly. 

“You can always change your mind.”

“Probably won’t, buddy.”

“All right. Dr. Banner will be by later this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” Steve’s face was red and his eyes were bloodshot. Bucky handed him more Kleenex and moved out of the way so he could sit down. Bucky poured him some water, and Steve nodded his thanks, sipping it. He was slumped, completely drained.

“Don’t be sad for me, sweetheart.”

“I know, Ma.”

“I know you know. Don’t sit there and tell me what I want to hear. Stevie, listen to me. I love you. I love you, okay?”

“I love you, too, Ma.”

“You’re a good boy.”

“You are,” Bucky agreed. He was still trying to process it all.

“You are, too,” Sarah told him, giving him a poke in the side to get a smile out of him.

“I love you, too, Ma,” he told her.

“Good. Because I’m still gonna give you shit, buddy boy. Just watch me.”

*

 

They remained through visiting hours and talked to one specialist after another, to case managers and social workers, to nurses and respiratory therapists. Dr. Banner turned out to be kind and savvy and was full of suggestions about pain management. They made an appointment to speak to a financial counselor for that week, and Bucky could tell Steve was already fretting about it, but resigned.

Okay. Okay.

Sarah finally decided to evict them at a little before nine. “All right, Butch and Sundance, it’s time to hop along.”

“We can stay,” Steve offered.

“I’m not due back at the shop yet,” Bucky added.

“Get some rest. If my bed feels like hell, that couch isn’t any better, and neither is the recliner. You’ll get a kink in your neck,” she told Bucky, who had already dozed off in it once, and she was right.

“You’re going to be all right for tonight, Ma?” Steve picked up his jacket, but he hesitated to put it on.

“I’ll be fine. Got my call light, got my oxygen and my Lifetime channel kidnapping-of-the-week movie to keep me company. Go home and get some rest. Bucky, make Stevie sleep in.”

“I don’t need to sleep in.”

“Listen to him. Hear how cranky he is? Oh, Bucky, let me tell you about this big, tough husband of yours!” Sarah looked like she was just getting warmed up, even though her voice was hoarse with fatigue. “He used to throw the worst tantrums when he was tired! He’d throw whatever he had in his hand across the room and scream his head off!”

“Ma,” Steve protested.

“What? You did! Joe used to pack him into the car and drive him around for a few blocks, and he’d be out like a light.”

Steve closed up at the mention of his father. Bucky shared his unspoken thought that this would have been easier to bear if his father was there. Sarah took pity on him.

“Little guy had the face of an angel. Towhead blond. And dimples. He still has those dimples.”

“He got ‘em from you,” Bucky pointed out. Bucky kissed her goodnight and retucked her blankets. Steve bent down for his kiss, and Sarah patted his cheek.

“Buck up, Buttercup.”

“Night, Ma.”

“Night, baby.”

They nodded at the security guards on the way out to the parking lot. They parted ways at the visitor’s lot. “Meet you at home, Stevie.”

“I’m gonna stop at Safeway on the way home. I’ll unpack everything when I get back. You go ahead and get ready for bed when you get in, okay?”

“I’ll help you unpack everything, it’s fine.”

“No. Just relax and get settled in.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Bucky argued.

“Buck… please.” Steve rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Sorry. That’s fine. It’s fine, I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

Bucky headed back for his car, shivering as he climbed inside. He could see his own breath as he keyed the ignition. By the time he pulled out and handed the concierge his permit to leave, Steve was already out of the visitor’s lot. Bucky caught a glimpse of his face and watched it crumple.

Bucky realized why he needed a minute to himself.

It still made him feel like shit.

*

Bucky prepared the apartment when he got home, going through the refrigerator to check for anything that might have spoiled over the past two days from not eating it on time. He checked the mail, throwing out the junk circulars and credit card offers and took out the trash. He caught Clint as he returned to his own apartment with a plastic-domed holiday cake.

“Don’t let my husband see you with that crap,” Bucky teased.

“Merry Christmas, Barnes. Where’s your better half?”

“He stopped at the store. He needed some air.”

“Oh?” Clint frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“We got some bad news about his mom today. It’s been a rough holiday.”

“Oh, man… I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know.”

“We’re going to have to make some plans.”

“Hey, he has you. That means something. You’re a good man, Bucky. Okay? I’ll be rooting for you. And for her. Give her my best. Give ‘em both a hug for me.”

“I’ve been giving him a hug for everybody, today.” Bucky’s smile was thoughtful. “Hey, take care. Merry Christmas, Barton.”

“There was a memo on the bulletin board today. Pegs is having a New Year’s shindig. If the two of you are up to it, stop by for a quick glass of bubbly. If not, we’ll understand. And we’ll see you next year!”

Bucky fist-bumped him. “Night.”

“Night.” Bucky dumped the trash in the dumpster, and as he headed back to the entrance, he saw Steve’s headlights turning into their covered space. Bucky waited for him, shivering from the cold since he was still only in his shirt sleeves. Steve scowled as he got out of the car.

“I thought you were going to get ready for bed.”

“I was tidying up, anyway.”

“Just save it for tomorrow, Buck.”

“I didn’t want you to have to wake up to a mess,” he argued.

Steve’s expression softened. “That’s fine.”

Steve unpacked the gifts and one of the duffels from the trunk, while Bucky took the other and Steve’s plastic Safeway bags. 

“What’d you get good?”

“A few things to take to Ma’s. If they discharge her tomorrow, I want to restock her cupboards. And I got a little something for us, too.”

“Oh.”

They went up and unpacked their duffels straight into the hamper. Bucky laid his drawing on the kitchen table, intending to hang it in the morning when there was good light. Steve put away the food and took out two cartons. One was regular egg nog, and the other was Silk soy nog. Bucky smiled when he saw it.

“I love egg nog.”

“I know that.”

“When did I tell you I loved egg nog?”

“Kinda guessed it at Starbucks.”

Right.”

Then Steve pulled out a bottle of cheap, spiced rum. Bucky pulled out two coffee mugs, and Steve filled each one halfway with their respective nogs, then topped each one off with a finger of rum. Bucky made a note to himself to skip his Percocet dose, even though he knew he’s regret it in the morning. They clinked cups where they sat at the kitchen table. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

“Merry Christmas, Stevie.” The rum burned, and the egg nog was cloying and sweet, but it helped to take the edge off and warmed their insides. 

“We can head back there after breakfast.”

“Want me to go with you to the hospital, or do you want me to spruce up her apartment before she gets home?”

“We’ll both spruce it up. Don’t worry about it. We’ll get her in my car.”

“Whatever you want to do. That sounds good.”

“I’m going to get Iago tomorrow, too.”

“She misses you by now.”

“Wren’s probably got her dressed in her Elsa dress, by now,” Bucky joked.

“If she does, get pictures.” Steve smiled, dazed and tired. “She’s such a cute kid.”

“She’s fun to spoil.”

“She’s a lot like you.”

“Don’t think Becca doesn’t blame me for it, too.”

“Pffffttt…” Steve’s cheeks grew pink, and he was hugging his cup of soy nog pretty tightly. Bucky decided not to judge. Then Steve just stared at Bucky. “Your whole family has eyes like yours.”

Bucky felt a blush creep all the way up to his ears. “What? Two of them?”

Steve snickered. “Yeah, dork. Sure. Two.” Then, he added, “Blue.”

“So’re yours.”

“Yeah, but. Yours. Are really _blue_.”

Steve was staring at him intently, with a loopy smile on his face.

“Are you like this every time you drink rum?”

“You’ve got long lashes,” Steve murmured thoughtfully.

“Right. That’s the rum talking,” Bucky said.

“And you’re doing that thing… when you make them crinkle… there. You did it again.”

Bucky ducked his face, fighting the smile, but he snickered. The rum was getting to him, too. “Gads, will ya quit it?”

“No! Why? I like your eyes.”

“Okay, Steve!”

“They’re nice. I just like lookin’ at ‘em.”

“You’re creeping me out.”

“They’re pretty nice.”

“All right, now.”

“I married a handsome guy.”

Bucky smirked. “Nah. _I_ married the handsome guy. Handsome, and can’t hold his liquor.”

Steve looked surprised. ~~Bucky didn’t find it cute at all.~~ “You think I’m handsome?”

“You’re so pickled right now. I’m telling Sharon you’re a lightweight.”

Steve looked pleased. “You called me handsome.”

“Sure did, Steve-O. Dimples and all.”

“You like them?”

His voice sounded hopeful.

“Yeah, Stevie. I really do.”

“Oh. Good.”

Bucky snorted into his cup of egg nog.

They finished their nightcap, and Steve washed the cups. Steve stopped him from putting them into the refrigerator, redirecting him to the dish rack. “Wow, you’re gone right now,” he chuckled.

“No’m not. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Steve’s smile was still loopy.”

“Brush your teeth,” Bucky told him.

“Okay.” He gave Steve a little shove in the direction of the bathroom while Bucky turned off the lights. He noticed Steve had bought more toothpaste, too. Bucky left him vigorously brushing while he went to get ready for bed, finding the new pair of pajama bottoms and his “I’m Bucky” shirt. Bucky turned up the heat in the apartment, until Steve heard him tapping the thermostat.

“S’too hot, Buck.”

“I’m just turning it up a notch.”

“Not too many notches,” he said, mouth garbled with foam.

“Picky, picky, picky,” Bucky muttered. He walked past the bathroom door and threw Steve’s pajamas at him. Steve smiled around his toothbrush.

“Now we’re twins.”

“That was kinda the point, pal.”

Steve eyed Bucky. “Cute,” he muttered.

Bucky snickered as he went back to his room and put his bed in order, straightening the sheets and untangling the blankets from the comforter. He headed to the bathroom once he heard Steve spit and rinse, and Steve was already out of his jeans, balancing on one foot to put on the pajama bottoms. Bucky caught his arm before he tipped over. 

“Please don’t hurt yourself.”

“We match! I’m fine!”

Steve hung on Bucky a little as he helped him into his pants. “No more rum,” Bucky told him.

“Has a little kick to it.”

“This is a lot of kick, Stevie.”

“I’m a lightweight,” he confessed.

“That makes you a cheap date. I ain’t complainin’, Stevie.”

“It’s… I don’t… drink. Because, I don’t _go out._ ”

“I know that, Stevie. You’re not the man about town.”

“Not… when Ma’s sick.”

Bucky urged Steve back to his room and quietly handed him the shirt he gave him. It was loose on him when he put it on, and Bucky removed Steve’s glasses, gently folded the arms, and set them on Steve’s dresser. Steve sank down onto his bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“Want me to set an alarm?”

“No,” Steve said, yawning again. “It’s not too late, yet.”

“Okay. Night, Stevie.” Bucky backed out of the room and headed back to his own, not wanting to keep him up. 

He expected Steve to collapse and for him to be snoring once his head hit the pillow. 

What he didn’t expect was to bump into Steve once he reached his own room, turned down the covers, and got back up to flick off the light. Steve hovered in his doorway, startling Bucky. He looked confused, and a little distraught.

“Steve…?”

“You’re sleeping back here?”

“It is my room, Stevie.”

“I just thought… you were… sorry.”

“What… wait. Stevie, hold on.” It took a moment for Bucky to process what he was asking. “Did you - _do_ you – need company?”

Steve looked embarrassed. “I don’t wanna keep you up-“

“No.” Bucky’s hand snapped out and caught Steve’s wrist before he could retreat. “I just… I thought you were ready to sleep in your own bed, after the past couple of days, and… I thought I’d get out of your hair.”

“You’re not in my hair.”

And Steve’s eyes looked uncertain. Bleak. The corners of his mouth were tight, but Bucky felt him hesitating, trying to hedge his way out of this.

“Then, come to bed, Stevie.” 

“Maybe you want to just have your own space-“

“No. I don’t… I don’t want space.” Bucky nodded to the turned-down bed. “Get in. Take the fluffy pillow.”

“You can have it, if you want.”

“My neck has a crick in it. The flatter one will be better for me. Take the fluffy one, Stevie.” Steve sank down onto the bed, still looking indecisive. Bucky knelt down and took Steve’s foot, peeling off his sock. “You don’t like sleeping with socks.”

“I don’t…” Steve looked confused, like he wanted to ask Bucky how he knew. Bucky removed his other sock, giving his big toe a little tweak.

Bucky turned off the lights, and Steve finally took the hint and scooched toward the wall to let Bucky in. Bucky settled himself, groaning at the feel of the springy mattress and thick covers. “Sure you’re warm enough, baby?”

Bucky heard Steve clear his throat, before he muttered, “Yeah. M’fine.”

“C’mere, Stevie.”

Steve hesitated in the dark. Bucky heard the wheels turning in his head, but Steve slid over to him, and Bucky met him halfway, tugging him into his arms. Steve shuddered against him, sighing as he accepted the embrace, and Bucky’s slow caresses, Their feet tangled together, and Bucky tugged the covers up over Steve’s back.

“Don’t feel like you have to do this alone,” Bucky reminded him again. “Please?”

“I don’t want to dump this on you-“

“You’re not.” Bucky combed his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I’m your husband.”

Steve exhaled a shaky breath.

“I’m your husband, Stevie.”

Steve’s limbs felt like lead.

“Remember that, okay?”

Bucky didn’t want to lecture him. Steve was exhausted. They could face this tomorrow, but Bucky needed to hold Steve as much as Steve needed to be held.

“Only. For.”

Steve’s voice halted.

“What was that, Stevie.”

“For. Few. Months.”

The words hit Bucky like a sucker punch.

But Steve dozed off, clinging to Bucky, knowing the privilege came with an expiration date.


	13. For Better or Worse, Explained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve revisit what it means to be married on paper, and they explore more of its benefits. They still hit some bumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've definitely come to think of this segment as "The Tricky Part." Originally this story was only going to be a fluffy rom-com, but my muses yanked it out of my hands and flipped the script. HOWEVER, there will be some lighter parts. Just like in an actual marriage. 
> 
> And as with any other slow burn fic that I write, the smut pretty much did what it wanted. I couldn't hold back anymore, you guys. *hangs head in shame* Yup. The author is STILL A HORRIBLE PERSON.

"So, Stevie, I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh. We both know _that_ never pans out." Steve twisted around in his kitchen chair, letting his arm dangle over the back. He had their pile of bills in front of them, along with a calculator and the stack of torn envelopes to discard.

"Can you quit being a smartass for a minute so I can tell you my idea?"

"I think I can manage a minute. I won't guarantee it." Bucky wanted to swat him, but he settled for giving Steve the Eyebrow of Judgment, which was actually more effective. "Okay, _fine,_ " Steve conceded. A smirk toyed with his lips. "Lay it on me."

It was difficult in the beginning to figure out how they were going to divide their expenses - the utility bill, cable and internet were simple enough to put both of their names on, and they each paid for their own cell phone bills. Some of their other expenses were separate and trickier to navigate. Bucky's expenses for the bakery were in his name only, including the utility, cleaning supplies and food orders. Steve handled Sarah's medical bills, occasional groceries and toiletries. Bucky also had to pay the insurance on his car, and he was grateful that it was old and that his premiums were relatively low.

So, they managed.

But now, they had hit a big wrinkle, and Bucky wanted to see if they could smooth it out together.

"I want you to make me an additional person to notify. For yourself, and for Sarah."

Steve sobered in an instant. "Why, Buck?"

"Because."

"But-"

"Hear me out. Okay? Just for a minute."

Steve exhaled gustily, allowing those big shoulders of his to slump, and he gave Bucky a brief nod. "Okay."

"Right. So, here's my thought: I want to know how Sarah's doing if something happens. If, for any reason, you're at work, or doing something where you can't get away or answer your phone, I want the hospital, or her apartment manager or neighbor, or pretty much anyone to be able to get a hold of me. And that means the billing office, too."

"The billing office... Bucky, no," Steve argued as it dawned on him what Bucky really meant. "That... that isn't your responsibility, I can handle that on my own-"

"Stevie. Listen. Listen to me." Bucky held up his hand to quell further argument. "This is important to me, okay? I want to help you. With all of this. I don't want you to go through any of this alone, anymore. I don't want there to be any obstacles to Sarah getting care, or to you getting help getting it for her. I can help you. I can be another pair of ears, or another person to contact whenever you can't take the call."

"I _always_ take the call," Steve countered, and Bucky saw pride and a fire burning in Steve's eyes.

"I know you do. But I'm telling you that I can, too."

"You don't-"

"I love her, Stevie. She's my mother-in-law. I'd appreciate it just as much if you were on board to help me if it were one of my parents, or Becca. I'd want you in my corner, and I wanna be in yours. Do you hear me?"

Steve huffed, rubbing his neck. "Okay. Okay, now. Bucky... before you jump into all this with both feet, maybe you should know what that involves. Look," and he held up a handful of statements. "These are her insurance benefits letters. These are her actual _bills_. I have payment plans on the ones for her hospital stays. She always has to get labs drawn. The copay on her last MRI that she had done as an outpatient cost me two thousand dollars." But Bucky didn't wince.

"You've been working yourself down to the bone, Stevie."

"But I've been managing. I know what I'm working for!" Steve's voice rose a little, sounding strident and frustrated.

"I know what you're working for, too! I'm not saying I don't know why! And, y'know what? This is something we should have done a long time ago!" Bucky held up the little rent reminder that he printed out for Steve from his email. "We always pay Peg in cash, but she's going to be out of town. I don't want to leave cash in her mail slot where it could get taken."

"Fine, then," Steve grumbled.

"Yeah, 'fine, then,'" Bucky mimicked. "But I think we should open a joint account."

There. Bucky had put it out in the open.

Steve's frown softened. "What? Bucky... hold up. That's..."

"That's a sensible idea, Bucky, I think we should go ahead and do it," Bucky answered for him. "Don't you think she's been wondering by now why we never use checks with both our names on them for rent?"

Steve rubbed his nape and shrugged. "Okay. I... I guess. Bucky, that's going to a lot of trouble for the sake of paying rent!"

"We're already going through a lot of trouble for paying rent, remember?" Bucky held up his left hand, wiggling his ring finger. "Neither one of us is rich, Rogers. All right? You're not my sugar daddy, and I'm not yours."

That made Steve snicker. "Oh, man, if I'd known I was marrying into money..."

"Sorry I ain't gonna fulfill your champagne wishes and caviar dreams, pal. But it might help. We got married this year. Tax season is right around the corner."

"Oh. Shoot. That's... wow. Yeah, it is." 

"We can file as married, y'know."

"That's... that's crazy."

"Not really. Not when you think about it. "

"Well, let's... let's talk to an accountant. We should see if it's even worth it, first, versus doing a "married, but filing as single" status."

But Steve wasn't totally averse to the idea. Bucky moved on.

"And I want to insure you to drive my car."

"You're gonna let me drive Betsy?" That was Steve's nickname for Bucky's Mustang.

"You said you were thinking about selling Sarah's car. I think we should talk to the car insurance place, too, and see if a joint policy on both cars would be easier on your pocket, if they might give us a better rate."

"Buck... Look, I see what you're trying to do, and... God, Bucky." Steve threw up his hands, letting them slap his thighs when they landed. His expression was guarded, but his eyes... there was hope in them. Like he needed to believe that this could work, somehow, for the both of them. Together.

"Make me Sarah's other person to notify. Start there, please. That way, if her home equipment office makes a delivery again, I can be there to receive it. Or if her doctor makes any calls while you are at work, if anything changes. Do that much for me at least, Steve. And for her." 

_And for you_.

"That's fine. Okay." Steve went back to the bills, and Bucky went back to making supper, a simple tomato bisque and tri-tip sandwiches. Steve's expression was still troubled as he went back to his checkbook register and calculator; Bucky knew he was mulling things over, and that his mind was rocky ground right now for Bucky's seed of an idea. Bucky hoped it might take root.

*

Steve came around quicker than Bucky would have guessed. Bucky was elbow-deep in sourdough when Sharon came up beside him with his cell phone, pressing it up against his ear before he could object. "It's Steve," she told him, and she held the phone for him while he continued to knead.

"Hey, babe."

"Hey. My credit union closes at five-thirty. Can you get off for lunch soon so we can open an account?"

"What? Wait... hold on a sec, Stevie, I need my hands..." Sharon waited for Bucky to wipe his hands on a nearby towel before he took the phone for himself. Sharon was smiling demurely and watching him while she decorated a tray of cookies. "I'll take lunch whenever you want, just give me the chance to get home and put on a decent shirt."

"Are you covered in flour?" Steve sounded amused. "Bet you look all sexy and disheveled." 

Bucky snickered and felt himself blush. "Don't," he scolded, dropping his voice. "Not while I'm at work!"

"Ooooooooh," Sharon cooed teasingly. Bucky glared in response, and she stuck out her tongue.  
Bucky reached up and straightened his hair, tucking back a lock that had fallen over his brow from his ponytail, even though Steve wasn't even there to see how messy he looked.   
"I don't mind you looking a little messy, Buck."

"Oh, God, shut up, please!"

"I don't. It's cute. You look cute dirty."

Bucky's cheeks burned. He could hear the smirk in Steve's voice. And a hint of tenderness. Bucky's mind drifted back to that difficult night, remembering the taste of egg nog and rum, smelling it on Steve's breath, and how it felt wrapped in his arms. The night before that, sharing the guest bed at his parents' house, lolling in the heat of his body under the blankets to stave off the drafts. The memories must have painted themselves across his face, because Nat poked him smugly, clearing her throat.

"Some of us have to work here, instead of making mushy talk with our spouses." Bucky reached out to swat her, but she neatly ducked, snickering.

"Is that Nat talking smack?" Steve asked.

"You know it. Because she's slacking. And she's accusing me of being mushy."

Steve gave him a knowing laugh. Bucky missed that sound. "She should be one to talk. I've caught those two bein' mushier than a bowl of hour-old Cheerios."

Bucky had put him on speaker just as he said that, and Nat and Sharon both yelped in protest.

"What?! We are _not._."

"Take that back, Steve," Nat threatened. "Or I'm going to sneeze all over your sandwich and leave a booger in your lemon bar the next time you come over."

"She already does that, Steve," Sharon assured him.

"Knew it tasted funny," he countered.

"My food does _not_ taste funny. Take it back." Bucky tried to sound implacable. He failed utterly in the face of Steve's chuckles.

"I'm just messing with you. It's delicious. _You're_ delicious." Nat and Sharon cackled, and Nat made kissy noises by Bucky's ear.

"Oh, that's so lovey dovey, I might go into sugar shock," Sharon teased.

"Okay. On that note, I'll let you go, babe," Steve told him. "I'll meet you at the shop and we can head over together, okay?"

Nat waggled her eyebrows at Bucky, and he gave her a light shove when she mouthed _I'll let you go, babe_ under her breath. "That's fine, Stevie," Bucky told him aloud. "See you then."

"Later, Buck."

Nat and Sharon were grinning at him, then clutching at each other protectively when Bucky brandished his dish towel, rolling it up like rattail. They scattered when he let it fly. "Why do I even keep you two in my shop!"

"He called you 'babe,'" Sharon told him, tone still very smug.

"You loooooooooove hiiiiiiiiim."

"Shut up, just _shut up_!"

Who cared if it was true?

But they stopped teasing him as the morning went on, and Nat told him "Good luck getting things sorted out at the bank. We're rooting for you, and for Steve and Sarah, okay?" Nat gave him a brief hug.

"We are, James," Sharon added as she removed a few loaves from the oven. "Remember that. We're in your corner."

Bucky gave Nat a headlock hug and kissed the top of her head, then fist-bumped Sharon as she walked by. They could only give him so hard of a time, when they knew only too well how he felt.

*

Steve met him in the back of the kitchen, holding a plastic bag. "Here. I didn't know which one you'd want, so I brought a couple."

"Huh? Oh. Good, Stevie, thanks." Bucky peered down into the bag and noticed two of his shirts. He picked out the red flannel and handed the bag back to Steve. "Come on back for a sec and sit down." Steve followed him back into his office and sat while Bucky closed the door and shucked his flour-covered apron and his black turtleneck. 

Steve's eyes roved over him in his jeans and white undershirt while he fiddled with the blue flannel he brought him, unbuttoning it. "It's crazy today. It's like no one realizes Christmas is over. People still want gingerbread."

"When do you usually quit selling it?"

"By about mid-January, right about when people are finished doing their Christmas returns at the stores. By then, most people are sick of it. Pretty soon, everyone's gonna want Valentine's Day cookies and red velvet cake. My raspberry mochas and lattes sell pretty well."

Steve shuddered. "I can't stand the flavor of raspberry in my coffee."

"You and me both, pal." Bucky always felt a little gratified when they hated something in common. 

"Hey. Have you always had that on your shoulder?"

"What? My scar?" Bucky immediately felt self conscious, hating the little prickles that rushed over his back, knowing that Steve was staring at it.

"No. That little birthmark."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Bucky craned his neck around to glance at it. "It's just always been there."

"It's almost heart-shaped."

"Kinda."

"S'cute."

Bucky blushed and hurried to cover it, jerking on his shirt. "Quit lookin' at it, punk! Sheesh!"

"Aw, don't be bashful, Barnes. Don't be hatin' because I'm appreciatin'!"

"Oh, God... that was awful. Never say that again, Steve." Bucky scrunched up his nose in disgust, but he laughed, anyway. He shoved down the little wave of pleasure that he felt that Steve was staring at him and liking what he saw.

Bucky finished fastening his buttons and tucking in the tails. "Did you iron this? It's not even wrinkled!"

"I just touched it up a little." Because of course, Mr. Steve "The Perfectionist" Rogers struck again.

"It's just a joint account, not a loan."

"I always feel like they're judging me when I walk into the bank. They know there's never more than pocket change in my savings on any given day. I always figure it can't hurt to look like I'm living on more than generic mac and cheese."

"Hey, we've been living pretty high on the hog since you moved in. That's _Kraft_ mac and cheese that you and I have been scarfing down, fella."

"C'mere a sec. Let me fix your collar, it's all crooked. And your hair is caught in it." Steve stood up and came behind Bucky, and Bucky felt his fingers brushing at his collar, refolding it and straightening it while he freed the bottom of his ponytail from it. His touch was gentle, and Bucky shivered, wondering why it affected him so much. "That's better."

"Thanks." Bucky went to put on his jacket, but Steve's hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

"Bucky, I want to say thank you. For helping me and just... for being there for me and Ma." Steve's eyes held warmth and gratitude. Bucky felt the true weight of his words, and he knew Steve had won a rough struggle against his usual instincts to share those words with Bucky. It made Bucky’s throat clog.

"I _am_ here for you, Stevie." He chuckled dryly. "For better or worse, right?"

Steve's grip on his shoulder tightened, and he saw Steve's eyes dilate. His own stomach flipped at the change, and his heartbeat sped up when Steve reached for him with both hands and pulled him into a searching kiss. He lingered over it, and Bucky felt his hand cupping his nape, fingers curling into his hair. He couldn't stop himself from sliding his arms around Steve's waist, and he sighed into the kiss, letting it consume him. 

They came up for air at the sound of a low knock on the door. "Aren't you two headed to the bank?" Natasha nagged.

"Sheesh," Bucky muttered. Steve smirked and gave Bucky one last peck.

"Guess we'd better go." Steve was staring down at Bucky’s lips, and Bucky seethed with frustration and the beginnings of a hard-on.

“Guess we should.”

Sharon cocked an eyebrow as they came out. "Sure was taking you a long time to change into your shirt."

"Back in a bit!" Bucky called out unnecessarily loud as they walked out, tugging Steve along by the hand fast enough that he could only manage a brief wave.

“God, they’re obvious,” Sharon muttered.

“Right???”

*

They waited in the bank’s lobby for ten minutes before a clerk led them to the new accounts desk, where they filled out paperwork to add Bucky to Steve’s checking. The clerk was friendly and kept grinning at them.

“You two look like newlyweds!”

Why did people keep telling them that? Bucky wondered.

“So. Neither of you wanted to take the other’s name?”

“Uh…”

“It was hard to decide who was going to take whose,” Steve explained, and Bucky saw him slowly turn red. Bucky’s lips twitched. _Good save, Rogers._

“Oh! Sure! I guess you don’t have to change your names. Some people don’t, and it turns out fine.”

That made Bucky’s cheeks heat up. The conversation just felt so awkward. And it was over something as simple as a _name_. He didn’t want to admit to her, _We just never thought that far ahead._ They had two cheap wedding bands, a trip to the county clerk’s office, and a lease-signing deadline that took precedence over deciding what last names they were going to have on their utility bills. Bucky felt like they were playing catch-up with their wedding planning, after they got married. 

“At least you have two nice names to choose from. It’s not like one of you is Jingleheimerschmidt.”

Steve indulged her and actually laughed. “What? That rolls right off the tongue.” He poked Bucky. “Whaddya think? James Buchanan Jingleheimerschmidt. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Um. No.”

“That’d be a lot of letters to fit on your checks when we have them printed. Okay. Here we go. And we’re all set. Enjoy your joint account, and let me know if you ever have any other banking needs!”

On the ride back to the bakery, Steve asked the obvious question.

“So, why didn’t we?”

“What?”

“Change our names. Did you ever want to?”

“Uh.” Bucky shrugged and gave Steve a goofy smile. “I don’t know. It’s not anything I’ve ever even thought about.”

“You never considered what you’d want for a name when you ever got married?”

“It just never crossed my mind.” Bucky laughed and shook his head as they parked in the personal space and turned off the radio. “I never had any relationship that looked like it was gonna go in that direction.”

Steve turned and stared at him. “Never?” His voice was soft and a little confused.

“Nnnnnope.”

“Did you ever want anything more solid?”

“Sometimes. I just got used to expecting less.” 

“So, you never had the fantasy of the white picket fence, with a dog and a big yard, with two-point-five kids and a minivan?”

“Hm. Not… not so much. I’m more of a ‘I’d settle for a guy who replaces the milk when he drinks the last of it and rubs my feet” man who wants to come home to my cat and have a place to park my Mustang where my hub cabs won’t get stolen.” 

Steve’s face scrunched up in amused annoyance. “Geez. Your expectations are so low, Buck.”

“Hey, you’re dreaming of something that will take a lot more time and energy to get than mine will. And hey, look! My dream already came true! Go, me!”

Steve snickered as they got out of the car and went back into the kitchen. Bucky hung up his jacket, but Steve kept his on. He took out his phone and opened a note.

“Hey. Give me your social.”

“Why?”

“I need to talk to HR about my benefits. Technically, you’re my husband. That also means you’re my beneficiary if I croak.”

Bucky chafed. “That’s…”

“Well, you are.”

“What if we’re not even… y’know what? Never mind. In for a penny, in for a pound.” Bucky took the phone and typed in his social and birthdate before he handed it back to Steve.

“Well, why not?” Steve reminded him. “It just seems practical.” There was a hopeful note in his voice, even though he tried to sound casual.

But Bucky already weighed the implications of what Steve suggested. He didn’t want to think about worst-case scenarios. Life insurance was practical, sure. Adults purchased life insurance. It just took Bucky to a dark place, wondering how he’d cope if anything happened to Steve. Even wondering if Steve really wanted to dissolve their marriage once the lease was up gave him the cold sweats.

Bucky had grown accustomed to coming home to Steve in the evenings. Watching TV with him in PJs and socks, with Iago climbing up on both of them for shared snuggles. Waking up to see him with bedhead, still drowsy, while he made them their morning coffee. Watching over Steve’s shoulder when he sketched something on his laptop or drawing pad. Tag-teaming crossword puzzles or Sudoku while they waited for the laundry to dry. Occasionally bumping into each other in the space of their kitchen while Bucky cooked, or in the bathroom while they brushed their teeth and shaved. Sharing space had become such a habit and it was always his first instinct to make plans with Steve, around when Steve had free time. It was comfortable. Natural.

Since Christmas, Bucky spent more time at Sarah’s apartment, helping her to clean out her closets and dusting knick-knacks, cleaning above and beyond the service offered by her complex’s housekeeping staff. Sometimes, Steve stayed overnight on the couch, texting Bucky _Ma’s having a bad night. Anxious. I’ll be home in the morning, okay?_ As if he even had to _ask_. Steve would come home in the morning, looking exhausted, but he would give Bucky a bleary smile and ruffle his hair in passing. 

Sarah’s home was trickier to navigate now that she was on oxygen. The long, clear tubing wound its way around the furniture, a stumbling risk. There was a bedside commode in her room, now, for nighttime use, and various other pieces of equipment. It gave her otherwise homey apartment an almost institutional look that made Bucky’s gut twist. 

But she was still full of sass. She could still trounce Bucky and Steve at Scrabble and teased Bucky about his hair and managed to supplant both of them as Iago’s favorite human when she visited. Bucky’s cat was shameless. When Sarah fell asleep in her chair, Iago took up residence in her lap, occasionally flicking her tail in slumber. Even Iago knew Sarah was precious, and that time with her wasn’t to be taken lightly or squandered.

And now, Steve mentioned life insurance, and for some reason, it made panic spear Bucky in the chest. It triggered too many what-ifs, taking his mind in directions it refused to go.

He was scared to death of losing Steve, of having him walk out of his life. Life insurance implied… stability. Permanence. A commitment.

“Hey, Stevie… if it’s too much trouble, ya don’t have to do this. Okay? Don’t make a paperwork nightmare for yourself if-“

“It’s not too much trouble. Geez, Buck, it’s as easy as checking a box! We’ll talk about it more when I get home, okay?” Steve’s smile was warm, and he glanced around the kitchen before he pulled Bucky aside, toward his office. He tugged him just inside the doorway and took Bucky’s hand, squeezing it. “I feel like this is freaking you out a little. Are you okay with it?”

“I just… I don’t know. It’s just a lot to process.”

“I just thought it might be… I don’t know. If you think it’s too much, we don’t have to do it. I just like the thought of us having a little safety net. Once Ma is gone, Buck, I won’t have a beneficiary at all.”

Oh, Lord, he had to put that truth on the table. Bucky felt raw from the resignation in Steve’s voice. 

“So, Iago and I will be on Easy Street when you croak?”

That broke the tension between them, and Steve sputtered a laugh. “I see why you married me now. Not just my good looks, huh?”

“Well, initially, it was just that, but, y’know. Ya get to know a guy…” Bucky’s lips twisted, and he squeezed Steve’s hand. “Don’t… don’t think I’m gonna milk this just for the ‘benefits,’ pal. I just… you know what I mean.”

“I do.” Steve stared down at their linked hands, stroking Bucky’s with his thumb. “I know why we did this. And y’know what, Buck? I’m _glad_ we did it. You’re the best pretend husband a guy could ask for.”

“I want that on a greeting card,” Bucky teased.

“Hey, I’ve gotta jet.” Steve leaned in and kissed Bucky, intending to be brief, but Bucky caught him by the lapel and stole a kiss that made Steve “mmmph!” in pleased surprise, and he relented, letting Bucky take what he wanted, a slow, gentle slide of lips.

“You sure have been practicing that a lot,” Steve accused. His voice was husky, and his eyes were dilated behind his glasses.

“Hey. If you’re gonna do something, Stevie, do it well.” He released him and walked him back out. “Have a good day. Bring home some milk if you remember to. We’re out.”

“Okay. See, Bucky? We’re livin’ the dream.”

“You know it, Rogers.”

*

 

Within a week, they ironed out a few more wrinkles. Bucky made the call to the home equipment office when Sarah’s concentrator was making funny noises. A letter came in the mail for Bucky with his new insurance cards from Steve’s carrier explaining that he had “Employee plus Spouse” coverage for health, life, vision and dental. He read it incredulously and brandished it at Steve as he entered the living room.

“What’s up, Rogers? You added me to your health plan?”

“My premiums are lower than yours, Buck. Just makes sense. And, hey, the nice thing about marriage? It’s a ‘qualifying event’ if I need to add you as a dependent after the enrollment period. So if you want to go back to physical therapy again, or see that pain doctor you were thinking about, you can go after the first of next month.”

Bucky felt a rush of warmth, and his mouth didn’t want to work. He threw up his hands, set down the letter, and got up from his seat, interrupting Steve’s reach for a magazine. “So, you should call your carrier and cancel-“ His words were cut off when he found his arms full of Bucky, scarcely managing a laugh before Bucky kissed him. “Buck-“

He was cut off again, but this time, Steve sighed in surrender and just went with it, tilting his face to give Bucky better access and opening for him without argument. He felt Bucky’s fingers combing through the back of his hair and tasted the remnants of the Toaster Streudel he’d just snacked on, sticky-sweet icing and a hint of artificial strawberry mingling with the satiny heat of his mouth. He was hot and solid against him, holding him, supporting him when he felt his knees almost give out. Every time he kissed Bucky, it pulled the rug out from under him, stunning him that anything could feel this good. And it always frustrated him whenever he thought of the ten thousand different ways they could _fuck this up_ if they took things too far. If he allowed himself to want more than what they’d planned and painted a future that might not happen.

But this… God, it felt so good. So right. Steve wanted to reach out for it with both hands. He wanted Bucky to look at him that way that he did sometimes, like he couldn’t believe Steve was real. That they could really be on the same page and sharing that road. And that Steve was the one he truly wanted to share it with. That a Craigslist ad hadn’t just solved their rent problems; it had brought them together and changed their lives. 

Bucky felt Steve’s grip on him change, felt Steve’s hands roaming over his back and pulling him closer, heard his breathing change. He tasted Steve with kisses that felt like deep, slow caresses, pausing occasionally to give Steve the chance to refuse them, but satisfaction filled Bucky when Steve chased his tongue and drank those kisses from him like they were the only thing keeping him alive. 

They came up for air. They _had_ to come up for air, and they were both panting. Reeling. Reluctant. Steve’s face looked _wrecked_ and his eyes were dark and glazed.

“Buck…”

“I know that was a little-“

“No. It wasn’t. I wanted it. If that was a thank-you, then you’re welcome.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky told him, nodding. He licked his lips, making Steve stared at them with want. “Sure. That was me, thanking you.”

“Okay.”

“Can I thank you some more?”

“I don’t think I’d mind that.”

“Good.”

Bucky kissed him again, harder, nipping at his lips, and Steve opened for him again, game for whatever Bucky wanted, and however Bucky wanted to show him his thanks. Steve stumbled back against the wall, taking Bucky with him, and Bucky crowded him, so hungry for him that everything else around them just dissolved. His pounding heartbeat drowned out the tick of the clock, but he heard the catch in Steve’s breath, heard his low groan of want, and Bucky shuddered when Steve’s hot, hard palm slid down and squeezed his ass.

Bucky’s hips thrust against Steve in response, and he found the telltale bulge of his arousal. Bucky needed to touch him, to feel him now that Steve had given him permission, and his hands roamed over his chest, skimming down to his narrow, taut waist. This was different than cuddling for comfort, hotter, less inhibited, and, to Bucky’s absolute lack of surprise, wholly inevitable.

Bucky’s lips traveled down over Steve’s chin, along his throat, tasting his heated flesh. His tongued swirled over his Adam’s apple and traced the cords of muscle, and Steve’s hands kneaded his ass, taking ownership of it. “We should probably discuss this.”

“Can we discuss it in bed?” Bucky murmured against his skin.

He felt Steve nod. “Uh-huh.” His voice was breathy, shaky, and filled with heat. His eyes burned into Bucky’s , and he kissed him again, letting his hands drift up under the hem of Bucky’s shirt to stroke his skin, a preview of what was to come once they reached the bedroom.

They stumbled back with some difficulty, ending up in Steve’s room because it was closer. They lost their footing, hands desperately tugging on fastenings and zippers, clutching at fabric, impatient and frustrated that it couldn’t just disappear. They kicked off their shoes, kissing to celebrate each piece of clothing hitting the floor. Bucky reached up and removed Steve’s glasses and set them aside, and Steve huffed in amusement.

“You realize now I’m half blind.”

“I think you’ll manage. I don’t want ‘em falling off and getting broken, buddy.”

And, oh, that did it for Steve. He pushed Bucky back until the backs of his knees hit the bed, and he toppled back, chuckling when Steve covered him with his body, attacking his mouth. Their shirts were already gone, and the first contact of their bare skin drove reason from Bucky’s head. Steve’s weight against him felt perfect. Bucky breathed in his scent and drank his kisses, cupping the perfection of that ass through the rough denim. Steve thrust his hips down against him experimentally, and Bucky groaned with pleasure. He felt the insistent press of Steve’s cock through the remaining barriers of their clothing, and he’d already managed to work Steve’s zipper open, but it was so hard to have to separate long enough to work him out of those damned jeans… 

Steve knew this. He continued to arch and thrust against Bucky while they kissed. His kisses were hard, but his fingers were gentle as they brushed Bucky’s hair back from his face. 

“You want this?” Bucky asked. “You really want this, Stevie?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation or question in Steve’s voice, and his eyes were so dark and so gone with desire.

“This is okay?”

“Uh-huh.” He nodded solemnly and kissed a sweet, soft trail down Bucky’ temple and over the line of his cheek. “I do.” He kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’m sure, Bucky. I’m so damned sure, right now.” And Steve wanted so badly to see Bucky really let go, to be lost in passion, and for him to want Steve just as much. “I’ve wanted this for a while.”

Bucky’s smile was wobbly. “Then you’re not the only one, Stevie.” He caressed Steve’s cheek. He could drown in Steve’s eyes. 

“So please tell me this is okay, Bucky.” Steve dipped his head and kissed him druggingly. Bucky hummed in the affirmative.

“I want you. I want this. I want everything ya wanna give me, Stevie.” Bucky arched against him, thrusting up at Steve, coaxing and tempting him. They kissed lazily, slowly, just for the pleasure of it, just listening to each other breathe. Fingers explored skin, tracing muscles, ribs, nipples and graceful veins. “Got supplies?”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah. I might’ve gone shopping. Just in case.”

“You’re so organized, Rogers,” Bucky teased, and he leaned up and nibbled the edge of Steve’s chin, then lapped a path down his neck. Steve’s breath shuddered out and his eyes rolled shut.

“Fuck,” Steve hissed. “That feels too damned good, Buck…” He eased himself down, making Bucky whine at having such a vulnerable hot spot taken away from him just when he was beginning to enjoy it, but he groaned in approval when Steve’s mouth wandered over his collarbones and down the divide of his pecs. He nipped a path down Bucky’s rib cage and lingered at his navel, letting the tip of his tongue swirl along its curve. Bucky’s abdomen jumped, and he snickered at the ticklish sensation, but then Steve kissed his way down his abdomen, following the thin line of sparse hair south. He worried the edge of the elastic waistband of his briefs with his teeth while his fingers curled in the belt loops of his jeans, jerking them down past his hips. He mouthed Bucky’s bulge through the soft cotton, breathing on him and making him twitch. Bucky felt jolts of pleasure and excitement at the feel of Rogers’ mouth where it almost hit pay dirt. Steve’s blunt fingernails lightly grazed Bucky’s thighs as he pulled the jeans down, and he mapped the slope of Bucky’s thigh with his lips.

Bucky knew Steve hadn’t done this in a long time – too long, given what he knew about his lack of personal time and how many hours he worked when he wasn’t taking care of his mother – and they hadn’t discussed the possibility of their “fake” marriage being an _open_ marriage. If Steve had found relief – release anywhere else, Bucky would never fathom when he found the time. He was handsome. Sexy. Of _course_ he would have offers, but…

No, this was true hunger and desire. This was a transparent, unbridled need to touch and be touched. He wanted _Bucky_. He _craved_ him, and he had relatively little patience for Bucky’s briefs. Which he was in the middle of removing _with his teeth_. “Shit!” Bucky yelped, laughing at the wicked look in Steve’s eyes. He worked them off of him halfway before finally using his hands, letting his cock jut free, rosy, swollen and proud. Bucky leaned up on his elbows as Steve stood before him, working on his own jeans. Bucky watched him, still unable to process how hot his husband was. Those deft artist’s fingers shoved down his jeans and briefs in one roll, and he let the garments drop around his ankles. Steve Rogers was a melody of contoured, hard muscle and fair skin that was rosy with arousal. Pinkish nipples were hardened into tender nubs, and Steve’s cock wasn’t to be outdone, either. Bucky’s mouth watered with want.

Bucky beckoned to him, curling his finger in invitation. “C’mere, Stevie,” he told him when Steve hesitated a moment as Bucky looked his fill. There was something shy in Steve’s expression, but his eyes burned as he approached Bucky, pulling him up to a sitting position and stepping between his spread knees. Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve’s chest, craning his face up to lap at his sensitive nipple. Steve arched into it and moaned, closing his eyes. His fingers curled into Bucky’s hair to hold him there, and Bucky teased it, spiraling his tongue around, drawing on it and humming to telegraph his pleasure at Steve’s taste. His fingertips toyed with the other, barely stroking it, and he felt Steve’s knees buckle. Bucky switched sides, bathing the other nipple in his heat as he slowly smoothed his palm down Steve’s body, skimming over his hip, letting his fingernails scratch through the layer of coarse hair shielding Steve’s groin. Beautiful. Every inch of Steven Grant Rogers was beautiful and made to be loved, worshipped with hands and lips. Steve’s dick kept jerking and twitching for attention every time Bucky’s fingers grazed it, and when he finally enclosed it in his loose fist, it swelled in his hand and grew hot.

“Oh, God… Bucky, please…”

“I’m gettin’ there, sweetheart.” Bucky kept suckling him as he began to slowly pump him, letting his thumb swipe over the head with each stroke. Steve’s hips stuttered, pushing him farther into Bucky’s hand, and his breath was uneven, coming out in sharp pants.

He was going to pay Steve back in kind for teasing him a minute ago, putting his mouth that close to where he wanted and then pulling back. _Honestly_. Bucky’s mouth roamed all over Steve’s chest, ribs, and abdomen, even teasing the crease where his hip met his groin. He breathed in Steve’s musky scent and finally took a painstaking taste of his straining cock.

Steve’s knees buckled again, and he gripped Bucky’s shoulders for support. But Bucky had him, holding his hips while he coddled the head in his warm, slick mouth. Unintelligible sounds escaped Steve, and his body tensed tight as a plucked string as Bucky nursed his flesh, lapping at it, sighing at its heft and fullness. Steve stroked Bucky’s hair, hand unsteady, not wanting to give in to the savage urge to tug on it. Instead, Bucky felt reverent fingers caressing his cheek, his jaw, as he lowered his head, pumping the shaft in slow, smooth shunts.

The reality of Steve naked before him, yielding to his touch, did something to Bucky on such a profound level. _This is happening. He wants this. He wants me._ Bucky’s eyes sparked at the realization that he was _making love to his husband_ for the first time. It was an incredible, precious gift. Receiving Steve’s permission, and his trust. Bucky’s hands stroked Steve, delighting in the tautness of his thighs, the round, firm perfection of his ass. He tasted a musky drop of saltiness and knew he was affecting him. Pleasing him. 

“So good, Bucky,” he whispered as he continued to stroke his hair. “Feel so good. You’re so good to me.” Bucky sighed, moaning in agreement. He cupped Steve’s sac, caressing it, letting his fingertips barely stroke Steve’s smooth taint. Steve’s body quivered in response. Bucky increased his pace, spiraling down on his cock, trying to see how far he could push Steve before he broke.

One. Minute. And. A half.

Steve gripped Bucky’s nape to get his attention, making him pause. “Please, Bucky… I’m not gonna last.”

“Sure you don’t want me to finish? I’m enjoyin’ this, Stevie.” Bucky’s eyes were dark and glazed with lust. He gave Steve’s head another sweet lap while he stared up at him, and Steve sucked in a rough breath.

“Uh-uh. Next time. Even though I love that mouth of yours, Buck. You don’t even know.” He skimmed his thumb along the edge of Bucky’s lower lip, and Bucky took umbrage by drawing it inside. “God, stop that! It’s too much! Jerk!” But he was laughing as he backed off, and he turned around to rummage in his dresser. His whole body was singing from Bucky’s attentions, and he felt like he was all thumbs as he reached for the bottle of Astroglide and box of Trojans. 

Moments later, Bucky was lying on his back, legs wide and slack, creating a nook for Steve. Bucky’s husband had just as strong of a need to taste Bucky, intimately. Leisurely. Bucky was the one breathing choppily this time as Steve’s finger, generously slicked with lube, slipped inside him, past the tight muscles. He caressed Bucky in concert with bobbing his head over Bucky’ cock. Bucky was in heaven, transported there by Steve’s talented mouth and hand. His finger twisted and thrust, stroking and teasing Bucky and hitting all those sweet nerves. Every time Bucky glanced down at Steve, he saw the rapturous look on his face, how much he was enjoying this, savoring Bucky, and it overwhelmed him, dragging him closer to the edge. Bucky’s cock drooled from arousal, leaking clear, pearly drops that Steve kept lapping up, like Bucky was a popsicle.

Two fingers, thrusting and stroking inside him, carefully worked him open. Those noises Bucky made were going to Steve’s head, and he was in bad shape himself, his own cock neglected but remembering how it felt to be inside Bucky’s mouth. He wanted to sink down inside Bucky and make him forget his own name, forget anyone who came before him. His face… _God, look at his face. He’s so damned beautiful._ His skin was rosy and suffused with color, and his lips were red and tempting, puffy from Steve’s kisses and … other things. The cords in Bucky’s neck were taut as he arched it, tipping his head back into the pillows. His hair was tousled and soft. 

“You feel so sweet, Bucky,” Steve murmured. 

“I can take more, Stevie.”

“Don’t rush it. Don’t rush. This is nice. Feels so nice.” Steve twisted his fingers, curling them and finding the tender, vulnerable spot inside him that Bucky’s control falter. Steve took Bucky back into his mouth, letting his free hand tease Bucky, skimming it over the patch of coarse, soft dark hair. So many months he’d spent, watching Bucky in all of his concealing clothes. Seeing him now, luxuriously naked, sparked the memory of the night he caught him at the fridge. The silhouette of his body in the dark sparked so many nights of taking care of himself with the Astroglide and his right hand. 

The reality of Bucky like this, squeezing at Steve’s fingers, made Steve believe that maybe the universe loved him, after all. He could have this. He could make love to James Barnes and keep that memory burned in his brain, precious and portable if things didn’t work out. If they didn’t renew the lease, or if Steve’s burdens were too much for Bucky to bear. He shoved down the negative, recriminating thoughts and focused on pleasing his husband.

By the time Steve removed his hand and slipped on the condom, Bucky looked so desperate for it, passionate and ready. “Please, Stevie…”

“Don’t you worry, Buck.” His tone was teasing, but Steve’s eyes were sincere. Steve knelt between Bucky’s thighs, gently lifting them to wrap around his waist. He hovered over him, brushing kisses over Bucky’s lips as he pushed up against his entrance and slowly, smoothly breached him. The breath rushed out of Bucky’s lungs, and there was the look that made Steve’s blood bubble in his veins, that look of rapture on his face. “Look at you,” he told him, voice awed. “Look at you, Bucky.”

Steve rolled his hips, and Bucky arched to meet him. He felt so full, straining to accept his husband within him, relaxing those muscles to welcome him as Steve withdrew, then thrust again, just taking his time. For Bucky. All of it was for Bucky.

Slowly, they found a rhythm as Steve moved. He gripped Bucky’s hips and rode him, pushing himself into that snug heat, feeling Bucky grasp and coddle him. They were both panting and fighting against the urge to cry out, but the sounds that escaped Bucky… _those sounds_. They would fill Steve’s dreams. He’d never forget those sounds, or ever hear anything sweeter than Bucky when he was being made love to. Their bodies grew slick with sweat. The rolling movement of Steve’s hips carried Bucky closer to bliss, shifting the angle to suit himself as he gradually quickened the pace. Steve was arched over him, thrusting, pumping, lost in how good he felt wrapped around him. 

“S’good… oh, God, Stevie…”

“Gonna make you come so nice for me, Bucky. Gonna make you feel so good.”

“You do. Feel so good right now, Stevie… s’nice.”

“Yeah?” Steve gave his hips a little snap, and Bucky groaned at how it hit his sweet spot. “You like that?”

“Yeah.”

“You like when I hit it like that? Do you, baby?”

“You fuck so good, Stevie. Fuck. Me. So. Good.” The words fell from his lips with each jarring thrust, and Steve eased up to change his position, lifting Bucky’s legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending him in half.

“I’m not done, sweetheart.”

Oh, God, Stevie was trying to _kill_ him.

Oh.

_God._

_Stevie._

Pleasure spiraled through Bucky as Steve gave it to him harder, faster, gripping his thighs, reaching down to caress Bucky and ring him with his fingers. He thrust, pumping his thickness and pushing Bucky the rest of the way over the edge. It might have been minutes, or seconds. Bucky came, head thrown back against the pillows, spilling his sticky seed over Steve’s fist and spattering both of their bellies. Steve kept pumping him as he continued to thrust, carrying Bucky through it as he reached his own peak.

“Stevie… oh, God, Steve…”

“I know, baby… you feel so good. C’mon, just a little more, Bucky, you’re so gorgeous… look at you. Look at you, you look so sweet when you take it like that… Bucky. _Bucky._ Oh, God…”

Bucky’s legs weakened, but Steve moving, tension building in his spine, and Bucky felt him pulse inside him, throbbing and hot. The moment his climax hit him, his whole face just… 

His face.

Awed. Stunned. Rapt with unbelievable pleasure. His body spasmed, rocking him forward in short, quick jerks as he emptied himself inside Bucky, wringing himself out.

Steve’s hips finally stilled. They were both breathing hard, and Bucky squeezed him, just a brief clutch to remind Steve that he was still inside him. Steve winced, oversensitized and worn out. He turned his face and kissed Bucky’s knee before he carefully disengaged his legs, lowering them to the bed before he collapsed against him. Bucky’s limbs had just enough strength left to coil around Steve. Steve breathed in the scent of their mingled sweat and the odors of sex, basking in Bucky’s heat and how it felt to have that soft, warm skin beneath him. 

“Wow,” Bucky breathed. “Okay. O. Kay.”

“Was it?”

“ _Rogers._ Oh, my God. Shut up. Was it _okay_.” Steve risked a glance up at Bucky from where he had his face buried in his neck. His husband looked amused and annoyed with him, which wasn’t unusual. “You big dork. _Yes_ , it was okay, damn it.” Honestly. The questions this man asked him…

But Bucky’s arms tightened around him, and his lips found their way along Steve’s hairline. 

“I’ve gotta throw this thing out,” Steve muttered. He leaned up on his elbows and kissed Bucky, earning himself a look of disbelief.

“You can actually move right now?”

“Not much. Get under the covers. Make room for me.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, buddy.” Steve hobbled off, still naked and very appealing to Bucky. He was adorable. Bucky struggled to get under the covers as the sweat began to cool on his skin. He heard Steve disposing of the condom and running the water in the bathroom sink. When he returned, he brandished a damp washcloth. He’d already cleaned himself off, and he made quick work of wiping Bucky’s skin before the rag could cool off. Bucky’s abdomen jumped at the contact, but Steve made quick work of it, not wanting him to catch a chill. When he took care of the rag and returned to bed, they snuggled down like puppies under the covers. Steve shuddered with relief at how good it felt to lie against Bucky, wallowing in the warmth of his body and listening to his steady heartbeat. 

A benefit. Another benefit, Bucky realized. This was the one thing they’d left undiscussed, until it wouldn’t allow itself to be ignored anymore. Because only two guys like Steve and Bucky, both hardheaded even on the best of days, could walk down the aisle – a short one, all things considered, since it was a courthouse, but it still counted as an aisle – and take advantage of all the benefits that a marriage entailed, but then leave this one for last. 

This changed things. And it scared Bucky. God, it scared him. 

They’d finally found their footing. They had a great thing going.

And now, Bucky didn’t know how to break it to Steve that this meant more to him than a momentary lapse. “Friends with benefits” had sex.

Fake husbands… typically didn’t. Did they?

Leaving open the question, he mused, as he listened to Steve’s breathing slow and deepen, felt the crack of his yawn against his chest in the dark.

How did he go about not being “fake” married to his husband?

How would Bucky convince him that he loved him, and that what they had was worth a chance to be something more?

Steve didn’t realize his husband’s inner struggle as he began to drift off. He just held onto him, praying that maybe… just maybe, Bucky could love him. And that they could make this work.

Crazier things had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: More angst. More Nat and Sharon weighing in. And Sam comes back for a visit. Stay tuned. Thanks for humoring me.


	14. I Know I’ve Misbehaved, And We’ve Both Made Mistakes, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets Bucky's best friend, they end up at his engagement party, and then awkwardness and a misunderstanding ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me yet. The next chapter is going to be SO WORTH IT, I swear.

"Bucky? Have you seen my keys?" Steve darted around the apartment, rummaging through the bill stacks on the dining room table, the junk mail on the counter - they'd both been distracted, and the housekeeping had grown neglected - and the key hanger in the kitchen _specifically for that purpose_ , with no luck.

"Just a sec." Bucky emerged from his bedroom and holding Steve's keys by the kitschy little chain ornament, a pendant of Grumpy from Snow White. He dangled it out from himself, giving it a little, jingling shake, and he smirked at Steve, who cracked a smile of relief. 

"Where were they?"

Bucky's smirk widened as he handed them over. "On my dresser."

"Oh. 'Course they were." Steve's smile was chagrined. 

"Wonder how they ended up there?" Bucky teased as he pulled Steve in by his waist and inclined his face for a brief, soft kiss. Steve reached up and cupped Bucky's cheek in his warm palm and pulled him back for another, then two, then three, until Bucky reminded him, "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Steve sighed, shoulders sagging with resignation that Bucky found _very_ flattering. "Don't remind me."

"Hey. You're the responsible one."

"Don't remind me, pal."

"Are you coming to meet me for lunch?"

"At work? Or did you want something else?"

"I dunno." Bucky shrugged, and he tightened his arms around Steve's waist, enjoying his solid warmth and his last opportunity for the next few hours to be this close. "Whatever you're in the mood for, I guess."

"Wanna know what I'm in the mood for, Barnes?" His voice husked over Bucky's lips, and he kissed Bucky just as he smiled.

"We'll never go back to work if we take it back here."

"I know that. I could tell them I'm 'working from home.'"

"Think they'd believe it?" 

"They might." Steve nuzzled Bucky's nose with his. 

"Can't chance it." Bucky's voice was disappointed.

"Darn it!"

"You'll live."

Steve huffed and released him, but his touch lingered. 

Things changed so much since that night. 

*

 

It felt so strange, waking up in Steve’s bed. Bucky almost forgot where he was, having the task of trying to recognize the sheets that weren’t his and the furniture that appeared to be on the wrong side of the room. He moved his leg, and his foot bumped up against a warm, hairy leg.

His brain went through several acrobatic flips as it reconstructed the events of the night before, and his body reminded him – in grand detail – how it felt to make love to Steve Rogers. His husband. In what he would have to consider his marital bed, now. He was still a little sore, and that ache told him the whole story and _didn’t leave a damn thing out_.

Steve’s arm crept around him, silencing all of the questions in Bucky’s head before he could give them voice. “S’cold,” Steve murmured into his neck. “Get back under the covers. Skin’s chilly.” The covers had slipped down at some point in the night, and Steve was right; Bucky’s skin was chilled, and Steve’s warm hand made him tingle with that contact, and he shut out the unwelcome draft by hoisting the thick covers back into place, huddling them together for warmth. He processed the feel of him and the way Steve’s body fitted against his like a puzzle piece, his warm breath (morning breath, unfortunately, but Bucky wouldn’t judge him for it) fanning out over his shoulder and nape, and how soft and welcoming his skin felt, and the strength of that arm around him. Bucky felt safe, and cared for, even while alarms went off in his head that _this was about to get awkward and they both had some explaining to do._

Except… what was there to explain?

Bucky… was married. Bucky had sex… with his _husband._

This wasn’t a “bad judgment call.” This wasn’t a “bad life choice.” 

This was fate. Chemistry. A logical outcome. A reasonable expectation. Instinctive. Natural. All of these concepts rose to the surface and made sense enough, for now. So why did he keep feeling like he’d taken a risk? Why was this “risky?”

Why was he worried?

“You’re thinking too loud.”

“Huh?”

“You’re all tense. You sounded all nice and sleepy a minute ago, and you felt all smooshy, but now, you’re stiff as a board. What’s on your mind, Buck?” Steve’s voice was still croaky and sleepy, but he was definitely coherent. His arm tightened around Bucky, making him relax and exhale a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding.

“I’m not smooshy,” he argued.

“You were,” Steve argued back. He tickled Bucky’s belly, making him yelp and squirm to get away from him, but Steve snickered against Bucky’s shoulder and pulled him back. “Nope. Can’t get away from me, you’re not going anywhere, Buck. You’ve still gotta keep me warm.”

“You’re a punk.”

“Awwwww.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

Steve rocked his hips, pressing his barely slumbering dick against Bucky’s rump. “I could show you why you do.” He heard the crack of his smile and felt the warm, soft press of his lips against his shoulder. Pleasant little shivers ran up Bucky’s back at the feel of that mouth roaming over his skin. Bucky’s muscles loosened a notch, and he began to crane his neck around to glance back at Steve.

“Quit distracting me.”

“Distracting you from what?”

“Talking about this?” Bucky pressed.

Steve let out a ragged groan. “Bucky…”

“Seriously. We need to talk about this.”

“Well, it happened. This happened. What else do you want me to say? That I didn’t enjoy it?”

Bucky winced. “No…”

“Well, good. Because I did.”

Bucky tried to bite back the smile, and he slowly rolled over with difficulty, because Steve was reluctant to move his arm, but when he stared up at him, finally, the payoff was…

Beautiful.

Steve’s hair was sleep-mussed and he had a little pillow crease in his cheek. His lips were chapped, and Bucky knew that part was _his_ fault, because he couldn’t stop kissing him last night, or sucking on them… nibbling them, and at the moment, he was having a hard time not staring at them. Steve’s blue eyes were still a little drowsy, but they crinkled as they stared down at Bucky.

“I’d have some choice words for you if you didn’t, pal.”

“Ohhhh, I’m sure you would.” Steve huffed. “Depending on the time of day, your eyes look gray.”

“Okay…” Bucky’s nose scrunched up as he fought the urge to laugh. “Stay on track, Stevie.”

“They’re nice,” Steve told him, shrugging before he kissed Bucky, and Bucky still admitted to himself that his own morning breath had to be as heinous as Steve’s, but that mouth was hot and firm, and he groaned into the breath they shared, letting their tongues tangle together. Bucky reached up and raked his fingers through the hair at Steve’s nape, lightly scratching his scalp with his blunt nails. The kisses kept coming, one tumbling into the other, until Bucky pushed Steve back and told him “Okay. Okay, now. We’re talking.”

Steve rolled his eyes and gave him another aggrieved sigh. “Can we wait until after we make out and I take a few more liberties?”

“Stevie.”

“Bucky.” Steve leaned down and rubbed his nose against Bucky’s just to be ridiculous. Bucky poked him in the armpit for his troubles, and Steve hissed in surprise. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

“Is this okay? We’re not… things aren’t gonna be weird between us, right?”

“Things have _always_ been a little weird between us,” Steve pointed out. “Things _started off_ weird to begin with. How many people can say they found their husband on Craigslist?”

“Pretend husband, technically.”

“Still not typical, Bucky.” Steve sighed again and leaned against his elbow. He tugged on a lock of Bucky’s hair.

“Ow. Quit it.”

“And technically, I’m your _legal_ husband.”

“Technically, my legal _pretend_ husband.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Wait…”

“That’s technically how it works.”

“No. Not – not quite. Just. Okay. You’re my _husband_.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That means we can have sex.”

Bucky’s stomach did a pleasant little flip.

“That’s what you’re taking from this discussion?”

“Yup. Pretty much. And that if you cook dinner, I’ll do the dishes, for the most part. And, that we can have sex. And that whoever drinks the last of the milk has to buy more. And, we can have sex.”

“I’m seeing a pattern in your logic, Stevie.”

“Now, hold on, Buck. Since we’re discussing things, I think this whole ‘husband’ thing means… I can kiss you whenever I want.”

Oh, did that make Bucky flush all the way down to his toes. “Oh, really?” He gave Steve a contemplative look. “Is that a fact?”

“Oh, it is. It is. Any time at all, totally at random. Whether anyone’s watching or not.” His expression was innocent, but Bucky felt Steve flex himself against his thigh. “Nobody’s watching.”

“No, they’re not.”

“And if you want, you can stop by my room, and we’ll have sleepovers.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Yup.”

“Are we gonna read comic books under the covers with a flashlight?”

“That sounds fun, don’t get me wrong. But, I’m thinking more of us having sex.”

“Ah.”

“That can happen at a sleepover.”

“No blanket forts?”

“We can totally make blanket forts. And then have sex in the blanket fort. And stay up _really_ late.”

And Steve paused for a second and made a thoughtful sound.

“What?” Bucky’s lips twitched.

“I just. I just feel so. So lucky.”

“Lucky, huh?”

“I have you.”

Bucky felt his eyes burn.

Steve felt himself pulled over, fully, to Bucky’s side of the bed, letting his husband shift him until he lay on top of him in a jumble of limbs. Bucky swallowed his low “Mmmmph” as he kissed him with hunger.

Getting out of bed lost its appeal entirely. As did talking. _That can wait til we’re dressed._ Steve seemed fine with this. His skin was so warm, waiting for Bucky’s caresses. If this was how it felt to wake up next to Steve naked and to rediscover all of the delights of his body that he’d enjoyed last night, Bucky never wanted to wear pajamas again. Steve rocked his hips against him, and Bucky arched up into the movement, gripping the curves of Steve’s ass, he went from sleep-limp to full boner in about ten seconds.

Their bodies slid together slowly at first, a simple good morning greeting. Bucky was yielding and eager beneath Steve. When Steve opened his eyes as he kissed Bucky, he saw his closed in pleasure, his dark lashes forming perfect crescents, brows drawn together slightly, like he was still processing what was happening.

Like he was afraid. _Of what?_

That wouldn’t do.

Steve kissed him, lingering over it, and his palm cradled Bucky’s jaw. Bucky looked dazed when they came up for air. “Bucky?”

“What, Stevie?”

“Would I sound like a complete dork if I told you I’m glad I married you?”

“Yes. You would. You _do_.” And Bucky’s eyes were blurring, proving him a liar. “But you can tell me, anyway.”

And the words were there. Waiting. Lingering on Steve’s tongue, but afraid to launch.

“Can I show you?”

James squelched the voices in his head telling him that wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear. Close, though. He nodded with enthusiasm and was rewarded for his acquiescence by Steve’s hand wrapping itself around his dick. 

Steve was just as hungry for him this time as he’d been before, and soon the covers were too hot for them, stifling their movements, and Bucky heard the heater kick on again, anyway. The blankets fell away from them, and Steve stared down at him with so much heat in his eyes.

“God, Bucky…”

Steve traveled south, devouring every inch of him on his way down, and he spent the next twenty minutes rendering Bucky incomprehensible. Bucky came, shuddering, cursing, and twisting the pillow beneath his head in his fists. He saw spots in his vision and cried out, and then his body went completely boneless. He was floating. He heard the low sounds of Steve swallowing the evidence through a dim haze.

Steve joined him up at the pillows and pulled him into his arms, tucking them back under the sheet and the bottom-most blanket. “So,” Steve pronounced, “good talk.”

“Nnnnngggh.” Bucky followed that with an affirmative noise, and he didn’t open his eyes. He felt back to sleep, face tucked against Steve’s pulse, wrapped just as securely in his arms as before.

 

When he woke again, Steve was already up out of bed, and Bucky felt bereft, but that gave him the impetus to start his day. The room already smelled like Steve’s cologne, and he could tell Steve hadn’t been up and dressed that long as he walked into the bathroom and saw the last of the steam dripping down the mirror. Bucky lingered in the shower, letting the hot water run through his hair, because it helped him think.

All right. They hadn’t done much talking, but Bucky felt something from Steve. Maybe he didn’t want to overthink it. So, maybe that meant he wanted “no frills.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to think about that. Again, that gave it an element of risk, even if the intent was to keep things from getting complicated. It was just sex. Right?

Sure, they were perfectly matched in bed. Steve knew which of his buttons to push. He knew just how to touch him and how to read his needs, and Bucky responded to him so easily and so completely. Bucky knew Steve had to have been waiting just as long for this. That just left the other question, and Bucky was too chicken shit to ask it, yet.

By the time Bucky was bundled up in his flannel-lined jeans, a soft gray turtle neck, and a blue sweater that Winifred gave him for his birthday last year, Steve was already in the kitchen, whisking eggs with a fork. “Are those just going to be scrambles, or an omelet?” Steve beamed.

“It can be an omelet. Do we have the stuff for it?”

“There’s still a little cheese left, and I can cut up some chicken?”

“Ooh. Let me turn this down, then.” Steve reduced the heat on the skillet, which was sizzling with popping oil, before he thought better of it and took it off the heat altogether so Bucky could find and grate the cheese. He handed Steve the small Ziploc baggie of leftover chicken breasts and Steve diced them. He returned the skillet to the burner and poured in the eggs. The first hit of that aroma made Bucky’s mouth water.

Steve was dressed in his heavy clothing, too, already wearing his short boots (“Duckies,” as Becca called them, the ones from the LL Bean catalog) and the collar of his plaid flannel shirt rose above the V-neck of his sweater. His hair was still spiky from his shower, and it was on the tip of Bucky’s tongue to tell him to blow dry it before he left, but first he needed to know where he was going.

“What’s your plan for today?”

“I’m going to head into the office and drop off that paperwork so I don’t forget. Then, I’m gonna stop in and see Ma.”

“Want me to go with you?”

“You can meet us later tonight for dinner,” Steve told him.

“Oh. Okay.”

“There are some things Ma and I need to talk about.”

“That’s- okay.” Bucky felt a wave of dread, but he was resigned. Because of _course_ Steve and Sarah had to talk. Okay.

Steve noticed that Bucky’s earlier smile evaporated. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. M’good.” He attempted the smile again, but it lacked wattage. “Hey, let me know if… if you need anything, okay? Or if your mom does. If… if she needs anything. Anything.”

“We’ll be fine today, Buck.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve’s voice was soft and held affection. Bucky bumped elbows with him as he added the chicken and grated cheese to the pan, first for one omelet, and then for the second once the other was plated. This was part of their routine. Easy. Low-key. 

Bucky reminded himself that on some level, maybe this was so easy because maybe, despite their chat about their status as “husbands,” Steve could possibly still think of them as “roommates.”

_Ask him. Ask him, fer cryin’ out loud._ Steve glanced up at him, taking his attention away from his breakfast. “What?”

“Stevie. How…” Bucky paused. “How do you feel about-“

Steve’s cell phone beeped with a new text, and Bucky’s words and intentions deserted him.

Steve smiled at him apologetically. “Hold that thought.”

“I dunno. It’s getting kinda heavy, I might not be able to hold it that much longer.”

“Dork.” Steve’s eyes crinkled from behind his glasses. He took his phone and swiped the screen. “Hn. Just a text from my friend Logan at work. He wants to know what I’m bringing for the potluck.”

“What were you thinking about bringing?”

“Eh. I dunno. I suck at potlucking. I usually bring a couple of buckets of chicken.”

“Oh, Stevie, no.” Bucky looked aghast.

“It gets eaten,” Steve argued.

“But, it’s so low-brow. Stevie, you can do better than a bucket of chicken!”

“Not much. Not really.” Steve looked sheepish, but he was biting his lip against Bucky’s building tirade.

“Oh, my God, I married a complete Philistine.”

“This from the guy who I’ve caught eating Toaster Streudel,” Steve reminded him.

“Don’t judge me. But you can _still_ do better than a KFC bucket-“

“Popeye’s,” Steve corrected him.

“That’s even worse. Stevie. _Stevie_.

“I was also considering Costco pizza.”

“Oh, no you don’t, buddy boy. Not in this house!”

“This, this isn’t a house. My work doesn’t count as ‘this house,’ either, Barnes.”

“Oh, yes it does. You’re representing this family and smearing its good name with your choice of potluck offerings. I don’t want your coworkers to think your kind, caring, handsome, tasteful husband-“

“Let’s not forget _modest_ -“

“ – would permit you to make such an uninspired contribution to your workplace festivities.”

“So, what do you suggest, then?”

“Sandwiches. I’ll make you sandwiches. Good ones. A nice, big tray or two. It won’t take that long. I’ll put some of them on the sourdough baguettes, and some on wheat.”

“Could you do some of them on the asiago loaf, instead?” Steve’s voice was hopeful.

“Could I? Do you know who you’re talking to, pal?”

“The cutest, sweetest, most caring husband-“

“And tasteful. And handsome.”

“- in the whole, wide world. And modest. _So_ modest.”

“God, you’re such a kiss-up. Eat your eggs.”

They finished breakfast and washed up quickly, and Bucky decided that he would check in with Steve when he picked up the sandwiches for the potluck, once he had the chance to talk to Sarah. Maybe Steve would have the chance to see if Bucky needed to pick anything up for her, and keep her apartment well stocked. Even if it didn’t help Sarah much, it helped Bucky to try. It was so hard, when things felt so futile.

“I’ll text you when they’re ready.”

“Thanks, Buck.”

“You’re welcome. Believe me, you’re _welcome_. I just can’t with you and that chicken, Stevie.”

“Even if I tell them that it’s your secret recipe?”

“Do I look like the Colonel?”

“A little around the nose, yeah-“

“You DORK!”

Steve sniggered, and Bucky gave him a shove, but Steve pulled him back and kissed Bucky’s pout. 

“You take good care of me, y’know that, Barnes?”

Oh, there were those warm fuzzies again. _Damn it_.

“Someone has to. I can’t leave you unsupervised. Hospital corners on the bed, pleats ironed sharp as a knife on your work pants every day, yet you bring a bucket of chicken to work. What the heck, Rogers?”

“See you later, sweetums.”

Bucky sputtered with laughter. “That was awful.”

“Honey Bear. Cookie Face. Snookie Wookums.”

“Please, don’t.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

And the words begged Bucky to say them. So loudly.

“Never call me any of that outside of this apartment, or I swear, Rogers, I’m filing for divorce!”

That made Steve rock back on his heels. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“Can the ‘Cookie Face.’”

“Agreed. Hey. Bucky. You sounded like you wanted to ask me something, earlier.”

“What? Me? No. I wasn’t. I wasn’t going to ask you anything.”

Steve watched him, waiting.

“I wasn’t. I’m good.”

“All right.”

“All right.”

“Later, Bucky.”

*

_…or I swear, Rogers, I’m filing for divorce._ Steve’s heart was still hammering in his chest and panic made his fingertips feel numb as he walked out of the apartment. Bucky’s words were spoken lightly, but they lanced through Steve, making him feel sick. “He was joking,” Steve muttered to himself on his way down in the elevator. “He was just messing around…”

Despite how good things were going, lately, a part of Steve was still so scared shitless that he’d ruined everything. 

He had sex with his pretend husband. Amazing, phenomenal sex. And Steve felt like a fraud, telling Bucky that morning not to overthink it, when his own mind had been racing ever since, rolling over every possible explanation for what happened, and every scenario of how this could now turn to shit.

It wasn’t like they ever promised _not_ to have sex, right?

No. Even in the beginning, they discussed boundaries. They talked about dating, and whether that would involve _actual other people_. Deciding against it was easy enough for Steve, in the beginning, and the case for “no” became _imperative_ the longer they lived under the same roof. Listening to Bucky, staring at him across the table, sharing space with him in the car, on the couch, all of it was precious. Coming home to Bucky every night and sharing the sink with him in the mornings when they brushed their teeth was all Steve wanted. 

And just the thought of Bucky wanting to date someone else outside of their little “arrangement” filled Steve with true fear, and made him ask endless questions of _what was wrong with him_ , if Bucky wanted someone else. Those thoughts would have been ridiculous during their first few weeks on the lease. 

And now, here he was, freaking out just because the word “divorce” slipped out from Bucky’s lips.

The elevator dinged to let him out, and Clint stopped him in the front lobby. “Hey, Rogers! What’s goin’ on?”

“Just another day in paradise,” Steve told him weakly, but he managed a smile. It didn’t work; Clint’s brows drew together and he reached out, giving Steve’s shoulder a little shake.

“You look a little under the weather, buddy. Like you ate a bad burrito. You’re kinda pale.”

“Pfffftttt… nah. It’s fine. Just… the winter doldrums.”

That made Clint brighten. “Honestly. I hate those weeks after the holidays. Still dark, still cold, still depressing, and everybody’s still so bundled up all you see are their eyeballs walking down the street. I’ll be glad when I can walk Lucky without having to put him in a sweater first.”

“I know, but he’s so cute in it,” Steve told him fondly. The dog _was_ adorable in his sweater. 

“You guys oughta get yourselves a dog,” Clint accused.

“Oh, no. Iago wouldn’t have it.”

“Oh, right. You guys have a cat.” Clint looked skeptical about their choice in that regard, too, and he put iffy emphasis on “cat.”

“She’s not a fan of dogs. But she’s our baby.”

“Well, of course she is, Cat Daddy-O. You’re her human.” Clint clapped him on the shoulder again. “Hey, I’ve gotta bail. Got class. You take care, okay?”

“You, too. Oh, hey. Uh.” Steve snapped his fingers trying to remember what he was going to tell him. “Oh, right. Bucky is having his old roommate over soon. I’ll let you know when he gets to town, but we’re all supposed to be going out for drinks.”

Clint beamed. “Awesome! I’m there.”

“We’ll text you.”

“’Kay. Later, Rogers.”

“Later.” 

It occurred to Steve later that morning after he left his office from dropping off the papers that he’d called his husband’s cat “their baby.” And it hit him that much _harder_ that he had so much to lose if Bucky decided, in the long run, or in the short, that he didn’t want to stay. Steve had grown so attached to that damn cat, too.

*

Becca managed to call Bucky when he had his hands in the middle of five different tasks. Nat and Sharon worked the front counter while Bucky raced to put the finishing touches on Steve’s trays. He cradled his phone against his face with difficulty – smartphones just weren’t made for cradling – and told his sister, “Yo. Becks. Whaddup?”

“Okay, so, you were _really_ going to have Sam visit without telling me? Monica texted me this morning, and that’s how I found out that my idiot brother was going to shut me out of the drinking shenanigans. Surely you must have an excellent explanation for this oversight.”

“Uh, it’s called ‘my brother Bucky’s been busier than shit,’” he offered, wanting to shrug, but that meant dropping his phone. He speared the long sandwiches with fancy toothpicks and sliced them on the diagonal, layering them attractively on a big to-go tray. “I was gonna call you.”

“Sure you were. At least give me enough time to get a sitter for the night. I wanna get my drink on. My lips are dry, Bucky. It’s been a dog’s age since I’ve gone out.”

“I know that. There will be lip-wetting and shenanigans.”

“Wow, that sounded… surprisingly icky.” Becca laughed, though, and Nat gave him a look when she saw him smirking.

“That your sister?”

“Yeah. Becca’s a tag-along. Monica spilled the beans that we’re all going out.”

“Bucky, you jerk! Don’t be mean to your baby sister!!!” Nat pouted at him and tugged his hair.

“OW! Quit it!” Bucky reached out and tugged Nat’s hair back, making her squawk.

“SHARON! Bucky’s being a bully!”

“SHE STARTED IT! Don’t believe her, Sharon! Natty won’t quit touching me!”

Sharon rolled her eyes from the crowded front counter and planted her hand on her hip. “Children.”

_Uh-oh._ Sharon meant business when she used that tone. Bucky saw himself getting jacked up by his ear in the near future and he and Nat _both_ getting put in time-out if they didn’t straighten up. Nat raised her brows at him, reached out and pinched him just because his hands were occupied, and Bucky nearly dropped his phone into the mustard. Before Bucky could take umbrage, Nat was halfway across the room hiding behind Sharon and sticking her tongue out at him. Sharon’s sigh was world-weary and loud, accompanied by an all too-familiar eye roll. 

“See what you started, Becks?”

“Did not. You’re just being a jerk, trying to sneak off without me. You know I can’t wait to see Monica and Sam.”

“Well, me too, doofus. Don’t embarrass me. Wear something nice. And, wash.”

“I might even clean behind my ears. _Just_ behind my ears.”

“You never let me down, Becca.”

“Steve’s coming, right?”

“It depends on how he’s feeling. I don’t wanna pressure him, Becks.”

“I know that. I just… I hope he occasionally take a moment for himself, y’know?”

“You think I don’t? I just… I’m worried about him. It’s hard to see him go through this.”

“You’re going through it, too.”

“It’s different, Becca.”

“You’ve gotten pretty close to Steve, and I know you, Bucky Bear. You’ve gotten close with his mom, too, and I don’t blame you. I don’t envy you and Steve and what you’re both going through right now.” Her voice softened a little. “Hey. I love you, okay? Bend my ear whenever you want.”

“Bring your bendy ear out for a drink. We’re thinking of going to Harry’s.”

“Works for me.”

She paused for a moment. Then, she asked him,

“Hey, Bucky? Is Steve planning to stay? I mean… you guys are together to save money. I know he moved in with you to make it a little easier to get his mom settled and take care of her, but what’s his plan for… after?” She paused again, and Bucky felt the unwanted weight settle over his shoulders again, darkening his mood.

“I don’t know, Becca.”

“Just a few months til you have to re-sign the lease, if that’s still your plan. Or, if it’s not.”

“I’m open to it, but… it’s up to Steve.”

“Up to Steve? Why’s it only up to Steve?”

“Because it is,” he insisted. “Hey, Becca, I hafta go. I’m putting together an order.”

“You’re not getting out of this that easily, buster.”

“I know that, but we can talk over a Long Island iced tea, okay?”

“I’m buying. And you’re talking.”

“That’s fair.”

“Love you.”

“Talk to you soon, Becks.”

*

 

Steve walked right into the middle of another bicker fest between his husband and his bakers as he entered the kitchen. He watched them for a moment, listening to the smack talk before he announced himself, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face.

“Walnuts go into that batch, Nat!”

“They do not! These are the mocha _almond_ brownies. You can put your nasty walnuts in the blondies. Bucky!”

“They’re not – my walnuts are _not_ nasty, and those aren’t mocha, anyway, Nat! Those are the regular fudge _walnut_ brownies. Taste that batter. Taste it, and tell me that’s mocha.” Bucky dipped a plastic spatula shallowly into the bowl and jabbed it toward Nat, who delicately dragged her fingertip through the gleaming, dark batter and pressed it between her lips.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “ _Hmmmmmph._ ”

“Told you. Doofus.”

“Sharon, he called me doofus.”

“If the doof fits,” Sharon called back easily as she left the kitchen, but she caught sight of Steve first. “Hey, Rogers.”

“Hey, Share.”

She caught the soft expression he gave his husband, and she was just in time to see Bucky’s face light up as he noticed Steve. Sharon sighed under her breath, because _of course_. These two boneheads…

Then Steve saw the sandwiches that Bucky was sealing in plastic cling wrap, along with a huge plate of cookies, and he shook his head, laughing. “Okay. You get the prize for Best Potluck Husband.”

“There’s an award for that? Is there any money?”

“Nope.”

“Well, yay, me.”

“Bucky, this looks amazing!” Steve peeled up the edge of the plastic wrap on the cookies, but Bucky lightly smacked his hand. “Hey!”

“Don’t,” Bucky warned with a mock glare. “Besides, I saved you a lemon bar.”

“And a cocoa,” Natasha told him as she came forward with the lidded to-go cup and handed it to him. “We were thinkin’ of ya, buddy.”

“Then you get to share Bucky’s Best Potlucking title.”

“Oh, please. I’m this awesome on my own,” Nat said smugly.

“On your own, huh?” Sharon peeked her head back in through the doorway, and Natasha looked sheepish.

“Not- not _all_ on my own.”

“That’s what I thought.” Sharon ducked back into the front, and Natasha made up her mind to cut Bucky some slack.

“Let me help you carry these out to your car, Steve.”

“In a minute. I want my lemon bar.”

“Well, eat it, then. Sit down. It’s time for this doofus’ break, anyway.” Natasha held out her hand. “Give me your car keys. I’ll load these in the back.”

“You don’t have to!”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, buddy boy. Keys.” He handed them over, and she patted his arm. “Enjoy the cocoa.”

“It smells _so_ good.” Steve took a sip and moaned at the taste. “It lives up to the smell.”

Nat beamed, and she threw on her scarf and hat where they were hanging from the peg and trotted the first of the trays outside.

“I just got back from Ma’s.”

“How is she?”

“She’s okay. A little melancholy, but still sassy. The new painkillers are pretty strong. She was settling in for another nap when I left.”

Bucky nodded, and his eyes flitted away for a moment. “Okay.”

“She’s all right today. Come with me tonight, okay?”

“If she’s fine with it.”

“Oh, buddy, is she ever!” Steve bit his lip. “She made me go into the storage closet and pull out the photo albums.”

That brought back Bucky’s smile. “Oh, I’ve gotta see those!”

“I was kinda hoping you didn’t…”

“Nope. Can’t keep me from it, now. Especially if you don’t want me to see them. I want Sarah to share the dirt with me, now.”

“Like ill-advised haircuts? Bad nineties clothes? Me in my first pair of reading glasses?”

“Oh, God, I can’t wait.”

“What. Have. I. Done.”

“Please tell me there’s at least one picture of you wearing acid-washed jeans and playing with Pogs?”

“I was more of a Neopet kind of guy-“

“YES!”

“No! Don’t act excited about this!”

“I can’t wait.” Then it occurred to Bucky. “What are we making her for dinner?”

Steve deflated a bit.

“Y’know what? If she wants, we can order something in. We won’t overplan it,” Bucky decided quickly.

“You’ve done enough for today, babe.”

Nat hurried back inside, shivering, and she grabbed the remaining sandwich tray and cookie plate. “I’m having one of those cocoas myself when I get back in here,” she told them.

“Thank you, Natasha!”

“You’re welcome!”

“I’d better get going.”

“Okay.” Bucky picked up Steve’s lemon bar and held it up to his lips. “Made it just for you.”

His tone was _very_ suggestive.

Steve leaned down and took a large bite, and his lips grazed Bucky’s fingertips. His lips and breath felt warm, giving Bucky a pleasant shiver. Steve licked the powdered sugar and a hint of the tart filling from his lips. “Mmmmmm. That’s good…”

“Is it?” 

“Mm-hmmm. I might have to try that again…”

“Just to be sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve took Bucky’s wrist and guided the sweet back to his mouth, purposely letting his lips cover Bucky’s finger as he did. He lapped a crumb off of his skin, and Bucky felt a kick in his gut, not to mention suspicious tightening between his legs.

Bucky watched Steve methodically eat the rest of it, teasing his fingers as he finished. He swallowed the bar and then proceeded to suck the rest of the powdered sugar from Bucky’s fingers.

“Damn it, Stevie… I’m about to lock you up with me in my office in a second if you don’t quit it.”

Steve’s eyes were unapologetic and dark with lust. “Gotta get back to work, babe.”

“Yer killin’ me, Rogers.”

“Oh, God, you two are so gross,” Natasha wailed as she came in. Her face was twisted in an amused grimace. “Bucky, you’d damn well better wash your hands before you make those brownies, I swear.”

“Bye.” They kissed briefly, and Steve left Bucky looking forward to dinner at Sarah’s.

*

 

Sarah’s apartment was almost too hot, but Bucky compensated for it by wearing a thin tee – specifically his shirt from Christmas, since Sarah got a kick out of it. Steve wasn’t wearing his, but he showed her a picture that Nat had snapped of both of them wearing them one Saturday morning. Sarah had Steve print it out, and there was a copy of it on her fridge.

Sarah was bundled in her pajama pants, a soft thermal, her slippers and socks, and a pink fleece bathrobe. She lay on her recliner and she wore her O2 cannula. The hose snaked around the living room, and her walker sat beside the couch. The television droned on, set to the Discovery channel. Bear Grylls was eating a poor frog that he’d just fished out of a cave pool. Bucky shuddered. Sarah looked wan, still too thin, and her sparse hair was tucked under a soft beanie. “All right, boys, time for show and tell. Stevie, get me that album.”

“We’re still doing this, huh?” Steve looked aggrieved as he rose from the couch, and he shot Bucky a dirty look as Bucky rubbed his hands together in glee.

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re in for a treat, kiddo. Here, aren’t you cold? Take that blanket down from the back,” she said, indicating the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch.

“I’m not that cold.”

“C’mon, now. Cuddle up next to Stevie, so you don’t both catch a chill.”

Steve, from the doorway, gestured for Bucky to go ahead and do it, and Bucky didn’t argue. He took down the blanket, shook it out, and spread it across his lap. Then he patted the space beside him, and Steve “oof’ed” as he hunkered down and handed Bucky the album.

“Before you open that, know that was a different time in my life-“

“Stop it. Listen to you, acting like you’re hiding a jail record or a buried body,” Sarah scolded. She leaned in toward them, twisting herself a little over the arm of the recliner to better see and narrate what Bucky was looking at as he began to turn the yellowed pages.

“Oh. My. GOD. Stevie, that’s YOU????”

“Aw, Bucky, don’t! Please?”

Bucky snickered and elbowed Steve. “What were you, about a buck-twenty?”

“Buck-thirty,” Steve argued. “Shut up, you. I was lean and mean.”

“If you turned sideways and stuck your tongue out, you would’ve been a zipper,” Bucky teased. “I mean, you were _cute_ , but… you hit your growth spurt with a vengeance, Stevie.”

“Oh, did he _ever_ ,” Sarah agreed. Her eyes crinkled fondly as she remembered. “He’s the spitting image of Joe. He really is. Joe was skinny like that, too, when we met. It’s that Rogers family fast metabolism.”

“Don’t forget the Rogers family ulcers, too. And food allergies.”

“Oh, Stevie, don’t get started on that. Look how you turned out. But, Bucky, let me tell you, I always had to hem his pants.”

“Thanks, Ma.” Steve rolled his eyes, and he took some of the blanket and spread it over himself and huddled closer to Bucky.

“Okay, I see a school band uniform!”

“It gets better. Stevie played the French horn, and during the winter, he was in Repertory Singers!”

Bucky was _delighted_. “You _sang_?”

“He struggled a little with the footwork, though. But my Stevie had a set of pipes,” Sarah told him, bragging away and just getting warmed up. Her words were underscored by the low hiss of the oxygen flow and the sound from the television. “Look at the little sweaters they wore. Those outfits weren’t too bad, but for his band uniform, we used to have to send that out to be dry cleaned. And I had to disinfect his hat.” 

“Oh, my Lord… look at the HAT!”

“That. That was a Q-tip hat,” Steve explained. Poor guy was beet red and not loving the trip down Memory Lane.

“Heck yeah, it was,” Bucky murmured as he kept turning the pages. “But, look at you. Standing at attention.”

“That took work. And years of my Stevie wearing a brace to straighten out his back,” Sarah said.

“You wore a brace?”

“Yeah. Had to. Had really bad scoliosis.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one who has to go to physical therapy,” Steve said.

“We were frequent flyers at that clinic,” Sarah added. “But Stevie felt so much better after they straightened out his back.”

“There it is,” Steve said, pointing to a picture of him from about junior high. Bucky noticed some hardware and what looked like a collar around his neck. He wore a very baggy shirt, but Bucky could tell that was a brace underneath it. Steve was wearing his reading glasses – with big, dark plastic frames that overwhelmed his slender face – and a pair of red denim jeans with black pockets and patches that made Bucky grin.

“Stylin’.”

Steve wanted to hide.

“That’s my beautiful baby,” Sarah told Bucky. She reached out and scolded Steve, “C’mere. Let me squeeze your face. Lean over here…”

“Ma, no.”

“Stevie,” she warned, borrowing Bucky’s favorite nickname for him. “Steven Grant. Come here and let your mother squeeze your face.”

Steve rolled his eyes but obeyed. Sarah squooshed his cheeks, and he look aggrieved as he stared back at Bucky. “See what I have to deal with?”

“Let Ma squoosh.”

“It’s what I do,” Sarah agreed. 

“Maaaaaaa…”

“Okay, I’m done. Ooh, show him your old soccer pictures!”

Young and tiny Steve looked even tinier decked out in the long soccer socks, knee pads and long shorts. There were older photos of him in a church Christmas pageant dressed as a shepherd, complete with an eyeliner beard. There was a picture of Steve at a _tap recital_ that made Bucky laugh until he cried.

“Stevie, those are SEQUINS!”

“Shut up, Buck.”

“You’re so SPARKLY!”

“It brought out his eyes,” Sarah argued. 

“Sorry. I’m sorry. Oh, my God, that costume hurts my eyes…”

Steve was the shortest kid in his class every year until he was a sophomore. He was always in the front row, dead center. His towhead blond hair gradually darkened to caramel, but those clear blue eyes and dimples were consistent in every shot. Every photo showed Steve’s spirit. There were lots of candids, where Sarah or Joseph had to have snapped the picture before Steve could even respond to demands to say “Cheese.” 

Finally, there were pictures of him as a baby. He was never plump, but his cheeks were delightfully round and rosy. He was a bald newborn, and from what Bucky could tell, he didn’t even have sparse hair, in that flyaway, spiky, perpetual bedhead style that you could only truly find on blond infants, until he was about a year and a half old. Baby Stevie was adorable, and Bucky wished so strongly to be able to reach into the photo and cuddle him.

“That’s you,” he mused.

“Beautiful boy,” Sarah remarked. “Don’t let that smile fool you, Bucky. Kid was colicky and kept me up all night. But it was worth every minute.”

Her voice sounded thick to Bucky’s ears, and when he faced her, Sarah’s cheeks and eyes were red with tears. “It was worth every minute,” she repeated.

“Ma.”

Steve’s eyes glistened, and he ducked his face to rub them. Bucky quietly closed the album. “You okay?”

“I just need a minute.”

“Okay. Want me to put this away?”

“Table’s fine.” 

Bucky leaned forward just enough to set the album on the coffee table.

“Boy,” Sarah told them, “it’s been a long time. Long time since I looked at those.”

“Yeah, Ma.”

“Just make sure you keep these in a safe place, Stevie.”

“I promise, Ma.”

“When they empty this place out, just make sure this doesn’t end up in a box with the stuff that you give away.”

Steve nodded, and the tears fell without any effort on his part to stop them.

Bucky reached his hand out from under the blanket, palm turned up. Steve took it and squeezed it, holding onto Bucky to ground himself.

“We’ll put them wherever you want to keep them, Stevie.”

“Okay, Buck.”

“Oh, and baby, make sure we call up your cousin Ann. I have a few pictures in the other album. She was in some of them. The ones with the two of you together, she might like to have.”

“Okay.” He nodded hollowly and scrubbed at his face. Bucky stroked his hand with his thumb and leaned into his bulk.

“Want some tea, Ma?” Bucky asked Sarah.

“That wouldn’t hurt. Just, no sugar. Turns my stomach.”

Bucky fought his urge to put any in. She was thin and needed the calories, but he obeyed, busying himself in the kitchen. The surroundings were simple and familiar, by now, from his more frequent visits. He retrieved her favorite mug, and two plainer ones for himself and Steve. They were printed with the names of hospitals where she’d worked as an RN before she retired. Bucky’s eyes scanned her kitchen, roving over the knickknacks, dish towels and potholders; the kitschy magnets on the fridge and Steve’s childhood artwork; the old wall clock with Roman numerals, the kind Bucky used to hate as a kid because they were hard to tell time from; the dusty curio shelf in the corner with a small collection of ceramic roosters. There was a small, braided rug in front of the sink, but none anywhere else, so that Sarah wouldn’t trip over them with her walker.

The apartment was cozy because of its occupant, not because of the objects cluttering its space. There bits and pieces of Sarah’s essence everywhere, but her laughter and stories and wry wit made it home, despite Steve having to move her entire life out of their family home before they sold it. Her entire marriage was reduced and compressed into a one-bedroom unit with just enough of the amenities. But her spirit was too big to contain, even for her body, frailer, weaker. So spent. 

But she spent that night regaling them of the earliest days of their marriage.

“I told you I could burn water back then. I wasn’t lying. Half the things I thought I could cook tasted like charcoal,” she chuckled. She barely touched her tea. Steve and Bucky went out and picked up a couple of items from the Safeway deli, including a clear chicken soup. She managed a spoonful before suggesting that Bucky put it back in the refrigerator.

“I always wished I could’ve given Stevie a brother or sister. But when I lost Joe, I never wanted to remarry. He was the love of my life. Call me a sap, but I loved that man.”

“Such a sap,” Steve accused. Sarah leaned over and swatted Steve with a rolled-up _People_ magazine. He snickered and ducked her attempts to hit him again.

“Watch your step, you!”

“Hey, you said call you a sap…”

“Smart aleck.”

Bucky snorted into his tea.

Sarah turned to him and said “James, refresh my memory why you love this son of mine, again? He sure is a pain in the ass!”

“Because he’s _my_ pain in the ass.”

Sarah nodded. “Ahhhhh. Fair enough.”

“HEY!” Steve whirled on Bucky, mouth agape.

“Hey, I said you’re mine, right? That still counts.”

Bucky looked smug. Steve shoved him, but Bucky pulled him close and gave him loud kisses on the cheek, making Steve mock-fight him and try to push him off. 

“Ah, young love.” Sarah grinned at them, shaking her head. 

“Ma, come get Bucky! He’s bein’ a jerk!”

Sarah still wasn’t interested in anything to eat before they left, but Steve left a napkin of soda crackers on the small TV tray beside her, just in case, and a glass of water in the little built-in cup rest on the arm of her recliner. All them were yawning by the time Steve and Bucky bundled themselves up to go. Steve draped the throw blanket over Sarah for good measure instead of returning it to the back of the couch. Bucky returned the cups to the sink and threw out the soggy tea bags. He picked up the sponge to take care of the few dishes in the sink, but Sarah stopped him.

“Leave that, kiddo. My housekeeper comes in tomorrow. She’ll straighten it up. Come and give me some sugar.” She looked tired and wan, and Bucky felt guilty for keeping her up so late. It was so hard to leave, when that time with her was precious. Bucky returned to her side and dutifully kissed her cheek, but she said “Oh no, you don’t, c’mere you,” and she gathered him close for a firm hug. “Behave yourselves. Both of you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bucky leaned down and straightened her blanket before he retreated, and Steve took his turn hugging her. He was there much longer.

“Don’t catch a chill, Ma.”

“I know.”

“See if you can eat a little something when you get up.”

Sarah snorted. “The only thing I do when I get up is hobble to the commode, baby. We’ll see how I feel in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Get some sleep. Drive safe.”

“Love you, Ma.”

“Love you, too, baby.”

Steve let himself and Bucky out and locked the door with his spare key. They were both quiet as they got into the car and turned onto the freeway ramp. Bucky occasionally glanced at Steve’s profile in the dark, watching the streetlights flicker over his skin in bluish prisms. He looked calm, but Bucky knew better. He felt tension bloom between them, and his fingers itched to reach across the divide and touch him, somehow, but Bucky didn’t want to disturb him. The need for contact felt selfish, somehow; Bucky felt as though his own desire to ground himself would distract from the need to give Steve some peace and some time with his thoughts.

But then they reached the light for the exit, Bucky heard the smugness in Steve’s voice when he said, “What did you _mean_ that I’m _your_ pain in the ass?”

Bucky’s lips twisted up in a smirk. “You are.”

Steve did a double take, and his glare was halfhearted at best. 

“Hey,” Bucky added, “that’s an honor, pal.”

“Okay, Cookie Face.”

This time, Bucky wore the glare. Steve huffed at him in triumph as he turned his attention back to the road. At this rate, it was as close to a confession as either of them would get.

*

 

“Does this look okay?” Steve wandered into the bathroom, where Bucky was finishing up his shave.

“Huh?” Bucky paused and turned, taking in Steve’s ensemble and the way he held up his hands, doing a little turn. “Hmm.”

“Well? Yes? No? Maybe so?”

“It a little overdone for Harry’s.”

Steve’s shoulders sagged. “You think?”

Steve had on khakis and loafers, an argyle, zippered sweater, and he looked every inch the hipster doing an internship for a tech firm. “It’s too much,” Bucky told him. “Keep the sweater. Ditch the slacks and put on those jeans that your ass looks so nice in.”

Steve’s brows drew together, and he craned his head around for a quick, assessing look at his butt. “What’s wrong with how these make my ass look?”

“Stevie. C’mon. Lose the grandpa pants.”

“I just wanted to look nice!”

“Which is fine, but we’re headed to _Harry’s_.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stalked off. “If everyone else shows up in khakis, I’m blaming you.”

“For what? Showcasing my husband’s ass in the most flattering way possible and stopping him from making an unfortunate style choice? You’re welcome, Stevie.”

Bucky went back to his shave, clapping the razor against the sink to knock off the speckled foam. “I still like the sweater, pal. Keep that on if you want.”

Bucky listened to the slide of Steve’s closet door scraping against the runners as he searched his wardrobe for jeans. Bucky took extra care with his face, even going as far as to moisturize and to neaten his brows with the tweezers. Steve caught up to him minutes later as he flossed his teeth.

“Better?” He hovered in the doorway again, looking expectant.

_Gorgeous_. The floss went slack and made a slight click as Bucky pulled it from between his teeth.

“Uh.”

“Don’t tell me it’s still too much?”

“Uh… no. No. It’s. It’s good.”

Bucky had opinions about Steve’s butt in those jeans, about those long, tapered, muscular legs encased in that faded, careworn denim. But he also had opinions about how Steve was staring back at _him_ , like he’d never seen him before.

“You. You shaved.”

“I do that every now and again, buddy.”

“You look all fresh. And babyfaced.” 

Bucky’s face scrunched up and a snicker escaped him. “I don’t have a baby face!”

“Yeah, you do. When you’re newly shaved, you totally do.” 

“It’s too much of a pain to shave every day. About once a week is as good as it’s gonna get, Stevie. Besides, I’ll be right back to my five o’clock shadow by tomorrow morning, anyway.”

“You could give a guy beard burn, with that.”

Steve’s tone was suggestive.

“I wouldn’t now.”

“Sure wouldn’t.” 

Steve leaned in and clasped Bucky’s nape, sliding his fingers into Bucky’s soft, damp hair, and he kissed him, humming with contentment. “Nice and smooth, Barnes,” he murmured. Bucky’s eyes were hazy with passion.

“You’re makin’ it hard for me to go out tonight. We already promised we’d meet Sam and my sister.”

“And Clint,” Steve added. “I invited him, too.”

“Damn it, Stevie.”

“Rain check?”

Bucky had already drifted closer, and he gave Steve’s hip a squeeze. “Rain check.” His stomach fluttered with anticipation at the thought of arriving back at the apartment later that night and peeling Steve out of those clothes. Steve let go of him reluctantly, and Bucky finished working on his hair. 

They waited on their cab downstairs, huddled close for warmth. “Somebody promised me alcohol,” Clint accused as he joined them, grinning. Bobbi had her hand looped through the crook of his elbow. 

“You look nice,” Steve told her politely.

“Thank you,” she purred. “It’s been a dog’s age since _this guy’s_ taken me out on the town. I’ve got to make it count.”

Clint looked wounded. “Are you calling me a killjoy? Are you accusing me of hiding your light under a bushel?”

“Yes to both. Very accurate. You owe me a dance, and _all_ of the drinks.”

Clint’s smile was suggestive. “I’ll dance with you…”

“Gross,” Bucky muttered. But Steve just snickered and elbowed him.

“I might make you dance, too, now that we know how.”

Bucky’s mind flashed back to Peggy’s welcome back party for Angie, and he bit his lip. “No way, Rogers. You are _not_ dipping me again.”

“Oh, my God, that’s _right_.” Clint chortled, making Bobbi swat him. “C’mon, baby, that was great!”

“Don’t tease, Clint. We’ll never get Bucky out on the dance floor if you keep it up.”

Bucky realized that there was now a plot afoot. “Ohhhhh, no you don’t. Don’t all of you look at me like that!”

Steve kept smirking, until Bucky elbowed him.

“That means you have to dance, too.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Steve told him, and Bucky saw the first hint of a blush creep over his cheeks. Oh, tonight was going to be _fun_.

They piled into two cabs, and after half a dozen intersections, Bucky heard his phone ding with a text. He opened it up and groaned at the sight of the photo from Peggy’s party, because of _course_ Clint snapped a picture of their dip as future blackmail material.

“You know he’s going to show it to Sam,” he said.

Steve shrugged. “C’mon. You _know_ he’s caught you doing worse things than _that_.”

True.

Bucky’s phone rang this time, and he swiped Sam’s incoming call, unable to keep the grin off of his face. “You know, you deserted me, Wilson. I shouldn’t be this fucking happy to see you!”

“Deserted is a strong word, Barnes. And you should be _ecstatic_ to see me. Admit it. You’ve been lost without me.”

“Miserable. My life’s had no direction,” Bucky told him, but Steve took exception to that.

“Hey! I resent that!”

“Ooh,” Sam chuckled. “Did we touch a nerve?”

“Steve’s been doing his best to fill the gap you left, Wilson,” Bucky told him. He was biting his lip, and he yelped when Steve reached out and poked Bucky in the ribs, immediately finding a ticklish spot. “Don’t!”

“What are y’all doing, now?”

“He’s tickling me… Stevie, don’t! DON’T!”

“I don’t even wanna know…”

“We’re almost at Harry’s,” Bucky told him as he glared at Steve, who gave him an innocent look. The cabby glanced at them in the rearview mirror, and they both calmed down, but Bucky felt Steve’s fingers creep into his grasp, and he threaded them together with his own. 

“We’re already here with a table.”

“Look out for Clint. He’s with a hot blonde in a black leather jacket.”

“Is he wearing purple? Boy band member haircut?”

“That’s him. Wave him down.”

“Will do.”

“See you there.”

“Yup. I’ll be the one with the _gorgeous_ woman wearing a huge rock on her hand,” Sam bragged. Bucky heard Monica’s low, smug “Mm-hmmmm” in the background and her feminine laughter. A grin tugged at his lips.

“Yeah, we’ll compare rings when we get there, buddy.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is. Bye.”

“Hurry up and get here, slow poke!”

Sam disconnected, and Steve and Bucky remained quiet for a minute.

“So. Sam knows about us, right?”

Steve’s tone was a little worried.

“He, uh.” Bucky paused. “Obviously, he knows we’re married.”

“Does he know _why_?”

“I told him about that, all the way back when we moved in.”

Steve flinched. “That’s fine, then, I guess.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? It’s Sam. He was my roommate, too,” Bucky reminded him.

Steve huffed and stared down at their still-linked hands. “I don’t want him to get a bad impression.”

Bucky jerked his face up to stare at him, and Steve’s brows were drawn together, his mouth tight. “Stevie, what impression could he get? We’re doing fine! I was a hot mess when he left. Ever since you came to live with me, I’m almost civilized. And Iago loves you. My whole _family_ loves you.”

Those words still lingered in Bucky’s mouth, unspoken. It chafed.

“Sam’s gonna love you, too. That’s usually what happens when anyone I know meets you for the first time, so why the heck are you worried? You shouldn’t be.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Quit makin’ that look. Stop fretting, Stevie.”

“Okay.”

Bucky lifted their linked hands and kissed Steve’s knuckles to reassure him.

*

 

“Why do I feel like the seventh wheel?” Becca glared at all of her table mates over the edge of her beer. “Why am I the only single person here?”

“Sucks to be you, sis.”

“Oh, sure. My brother only _thinks_ he has his shit together more than I do.” Becca stuck her tongue out at Bucky. 

“ _This_ guy?” Sam crowed as he pointed at Bucky. “Naw. Don’t let this guy make you feel bad, Rebecca. We all know the truth.” Sam reached across the table and accepted her grin and her fist bump.

“Oh, we all know the truth, all right,” Monica chimed in, giving everyone at the table a knowing look. Sam’s eyes widened, and he held up his hand to forestall any upcoming dirt.

“Uh…”

“Someone didn’t _quite_ have their shit together a few months ago.”

Sam covered his mouth with his hand.

Bucky and Clint chortled.

“Clint.” Bobbi raised her brows at her husband.

“What?” he asked innocently.

“You’ve got no room to talk.”

“Oh, c’mon, baby doll! I had my shit together, but I’m _so much better when I’m with you._ They all know that!” he said, gesturing around the table.

Bucky was feeling generous, and the beer helped. “For the record,” he interjected, and he wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulders, “Becca got her act together just fine once she split from her husband, and I’ve got the best niece in the world.”

“Hear, hear!” Steve held up his bottle of Yuengling and lightly clinked it against Becca’s, reaching across his husband to do so. “Wren’s _definitely_ the best niece. She wins that prize, hands down.”

“Thank you, Best Brother-in-Law.”

“Okay, that’s laying it on thick.” Bucky earned himself the swat upside the head that Becca gave him, along with Steve’s mock glare. “Maybe not that thick,” he murmured. Steve’s hand gave Bucky’s knee a light squeeze under the table. Bucky felt his face heat up and he smiled into his beer. This was… nice. It was just so _nice_. Steve was a comfortable, tangible presence against his side. The beers kept coming, the conversation loosened up and increased in volume around the table, and Bucky enjoyed his growing buzz and the chance to share this with Steve. He deserved a night out and a chance to relax, and when he had a little alcohol – Bucky still remembered the night they had egg nog – Steve was a _riot_.

Bucky could tell Sam approved.

“Don’t feed this one onions, or you’ll both be up all night,” Sam warned, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Bucky. “You can hear his farts halfway into next _week_.”

“This from the man whose night farts are _legend_ ,” Monica reminded him.

“Hey!” Sam made shushing motions, but Monica gave him a jaundiced look.

“Beans are not your friend.”

“Beans, beans, the wonderful fruit,” Bucky teased.

As if on cue, Clint let one rip, and offered only a sheepish, “Oops. Excuse me…”

“Excuse YOU,” Bobbi pronounced as she fanned the air. “Oh, my God, my eyes are watering…”

“CLINT!”

“Right. Now that he’s cleared the table, let’s dance. At least until the fumes die down,” Sam suggested.

Steve gave Bucky a smirk that made him feel true fear. “Oh, God… Stevie, no. Darts. We can play darts. Pool. Shuffleboard… oh, no! NO! STEVE!”

But Steve was already tugging him out from the circular seat of their booth, giving Bucky the puppy dog eyes, and Clint and Bobbi already looked like they were game.

“Let’s see if those fox trot lessons paid off,” Steve offered.

“Steve, please. Reconsider! Oh, oh, here we go…!” Steve continued to tug him through the swelling crowd, which had doubled since they arrived, and they were out on the dance floor before Bucky could change Steve’s mind. Becca even followed them out, since it was a fast number. Sam and Monica were well practiced dancers, as a couple. After they left Seoul, Sam and Monica put some stamps on their passport and headed to Spain and learned a little flamenco dancing. They were happy, comfortable and completely focused on each other. Clint, for all of his goofing around, was actually an excellent dancer (“Clint grew up in a circus. He was a gymnast and a trapeze artist,” Bobbi shouted over the music when Bucky and Steve watched him, looking impressed. “And there’s no way I’d ever marry a man without rhythm.”)

And Bucky and Steve… did the _foxtrot_.

“Slow, slow, quick-quick,” Steve coached in his ear as they moved in place, around in a shaky circle, trying not to bump against the other couples. Steve was leading, because _of course_ he was, and their palms were growing sweaty. The beer they drank was beginning to seep out through their pores as the room heated up from the volume of bodies, and Bucky felt ridiculous. But Steve was so close, bleary and grinning, and Bucky saw his own reflection in the lenses of Steve’s reading glasses, and in those beautiful, laughing eyes. They managed to keep it up for most of the song, until Bucky called for a surrender.

“I can’t keep this up!”

“Sure you can,” Steve said into his ear. “You’ve got some moves, Barnes.”

“If you dip me, I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll behave myself. I promise.”

But Steve leaned in and murmured, “I won’t _dip_ you, anyway.” And he squeezed Bucky’s hip, just to get his point across, and Bucky knew he was in trouble. He was going to make it hard for him to remain in public, with his husband that close. When Steve smelled that good and he wasn’t doing that ridiculous foxtrot anymore, but was instead managing to keep with the song thudding through the speakers. Bucky’s heartbeat changed pace, matching the song’s cadence, and he caught a glance of Sam’s face in the dance floor’s mirrored walls.

Sam raised his brow and gave Steve’s back a nod. His expression, once Bucky faced him, was approving, even impressed. Steve saw that Bucky’s attention was diverted. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not ‘nothing.’ What’s that look for?”

“Nothing. I’m just… I’m enjoying this. You said you couldn’t dance!”

“I can’t!”

“Oh, yes, you can. You’ve been holding out on me, Rogers.”

“I’d never hold out on you.”

“This is a pretty well-kept secret. My husband’s got moves.”

“Well, you knew that, Buck.”

Steve pecked Bucky on the cheek, briefly, and he grabbed Bucky and turned him in a little spin, despite his earlier promise not to make a scene. Bucky cackled when he ended up colliding with Clint. Clint took that as a direct invitation to start doing the bump, seventies style, until Bobbi gave Bucky the hairy eyeball.

“Excuse me? Dance with your _own_ husband!”

“Aw, Bucky, no!” Clint cried out, making grabby motions for him when Natasha steered him away. 

“That’s enough of that.”

“Awwww!”

They stayed out on the floor for longer than Bucky would have guessed. A slow song made Bucky ease back from Steve; he assumed that he’d want to sit that one out, but-

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Okay.

_Okay_.

Steve tugged him back into the thick of the crowd and led again, holding him close, palm flattened against his lower back. Bucky huffed, and he let his muscles unlock, sagging against Steve and resting his face against his pulse. When he closed his eyes, he felt like he was floating. It felt so good to hold Steve; he couldn’t even call this dancing, at this point. It was just a sweaty, swaying excuse to catalog Steve’s muscles that were pressed against him and to listen to their pounding heartbeats.

“Clint’s gas has to have cleared by now,” he told him.

“Let’s just be sure.”

 

A few feet away, Monica told Sam, “They’re cute.”

“Yeah. Go figure.”

“What? ‘Go figure?’” She looked up at him in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

“This just wasn’t what I expected,” he admitted. 

“They seem happy.”

“Remember how I said they’re just ‘roommates?’”

“Maybe they’re being flexible with their definition of ‘roommates,’” she told him. “That’s like saying that you and I are just ‘roommates.’” Her hand was resting on his shoulder, and she wiggled her left ring finger, letting the lights from the slowly spinning disco ball above them reflect off of the single carat diamond there. Sam’s lips curled. 

“You know my mama would’ve thrown a fit and thrown me out the window if I hadn’t popped the question before we became ‘roommates,’” he reminded her. “And I _love you_ , woman!”

“She wasn’t the only one who would have thrown you out the window,” Monica told him cheerfully. Sam teasingly rubbed her nose with his and kissed her.

“Man, that’s sickening,” Becca told one of her friends at the bar as she sipped an Angry Orchard cider. “It took me years to get my husband to ask me out, and _forever_ to get him to propose. But my brother finds himself a husband on Craigslist. On _Craigslist_. How is that fair?”

“ _That’s_ who he found on Craigslist?” Her friend craned her neck around to look where Becca was pointing. “Okay. I’m canceling my Match subscription as soon as I get home.”

“He’s a sweetheart, too.”

“Does he have a brother?”

“Nope.”

“Damn it!”

And Becca watched them wistfully, knowing that none of this was what Bucky planned. But if it panned out, then what was the problem? Her brother deserved a happily ever after, not just a “more cheaply renting ever after.” And maybe, just maybe, Steve was game, too. “Pretend” husbands didn’t hold you like that, the last time she checked. They didn’t keep murmuring things in your ear that made you smile back like they hung the moon.

Okay. And they didn’t _kiss_ you like that, like no one else was watching. Like your lips were made of candy and rainbows. “God, just _stop_ it already,” Becca muttered. “Sheesh…”

“They know they’re in public, right?”

 

By the time Steve let him up for air, Bucky was completely dazed, erect, and impatient to get home. Or to at least get Steve alone.

The music changed again, and the dance floor woke up, lights coming back up and showing Bucky how dilated Steve’s pupils were, and his flushed cheeks. But before he could remark on it, Clint announced “I’m ready for another drink! Who’s with me?”

“Works for me,” Bucky murmured. He tugged Steve after him, this time, and he enjoyed Steve’s little groan of disappointment. He needed a minute to pull himself together.

“You’re not finished dancing with me, buddy.”

“I’m thirsty,” Bucky reminded him.

“Want water?”

“Wouldn’t hurt.”

And the server brought them a pitcher of ice water and another of beer, leaving behind a stack of plastic drinking glasses. Natasha and Monica blotted their damp skin with napkins, fanning themselves. 

“Barnes,” Sam said from across the table. “Come out with me for a minute, man. Let’s get caught up.”

Bucky’s brows drew together. Steve shrugged at him and let him back out of their booth. He sat back down and listen to Clint tell him about a dance club he took Natasha to in Budapest on their honeymoon.

Sam and Bucky headed over to the billiard tables, finding an empty one.

“Steve wouldn’t have minded a game of pool,” Bucky told him.

“Then he can play the winner,” Sam said as he chalked up his cue. “So. You and Steve.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Doesn’t look all that complicated.”

“We’ve been getting along pretty well.”

“I guessed that by the way he shoved his tongue down your throat.”

“Things went a little differently than we expected, okay?”

“Than what you expected?” Sam laughed, shaking his head as he racked up the balls with the triangle. “Bucky. Listen to yourself.”

“We didn’t plan on this. It just happened.”

“Yes, but what is ‘this’?”

“I don’t know what to call it.” Bucky glanced back at Steve, who was laughing at something Natasha said.

“No, we’re calling it ‘something.’ Y’all took this farther than you’re letting on.”

“Oh, I’m letting on, Sam.” Bucky gave him a measured look as he chalked up his own cue and waited for Sam to break. Sam jerked his head around to stare at him from over his shoulder before he turned his attention back to his shot.

“I was afraid you were gonna tell me that.” The balls clacked and scattered across the green felt. The striped seven rolled neatly into the corner pocket, and Sam lined up the cue ball for his next shot. “You’re sure that was a good idea, Barnes?”

“It just happened. And it wasn’t a ‘bad idea,’ Sam. It happened. And it’ll probably happen again.” Probably tonight, he didn’t add.

“But you’re both fine with this? You signed a lease.”

“Yeah. We did.”

“Are you planning to renew it?”

“We’re still thinking about it.”

“But, have you _talked_ about it?”

Bucky clammed up. Sam missed his third shot and stepped back from the edge of the table to let Bucky shoot.

“Not in so many words.”

“I know you weren’t this much of a walking disaster when I moved out,” Sam muttered. “I know you didn’t forget how to use your words.”

“We talk,” Bucky told him as he aimed for the solid green. He missed the shot and it ricocheted, accidentally knocking Sam’s striped ball into the center pocket. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Before this summer? That’s when your lease is up, right?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Bucky repeated. “Don’t worry about it, Wilson.”

Sam looked tense and skeptical as they continued their game. Bucky tried to steer things back onto safer topics.

“When did you guys set the date for?”

“We’re announcing that this weekend. You and Mr. Wonderful are invited to Mom and Pop’s, by the way. Saturday at seven.”

“I’ll see if he’s up to it.”

“He sure seemed to be tonight.”

“We don’t go out much,” Bucky admitted. “We spend a lot of time at his mom’s.”

Sam sobered. “You mentioned that she’s sick?”

“She has terminal cancer. We found out a few weeks ago.”

Sam’s expression shuttered, and he reached for Bucky’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “I’m so sorry, man.”

“Thanks. It’s been rough on him.”

“And on you, right?”

“I just wanna be there for Stevie.”

Sam’s lips twitched. “Stevie. That’s cute. You guys have pet names?”

Bucky ducked his face, remembering back to Steve’s choices of pet name that he’d shot down. “Nah.”

“Oh, yeah, you do! Look at that blush!” Sam shook his head. 

“You’re a punk, y’know that, Wilson?”

“Hey, just… never mind. I’m giving you a hard time. I’m sorry. I’m glad he has you. However that works.”

Bucky glanced over at Steve, who waved to them both. Bucky’s smile was fond.

“Sam… I think I’ve fallen for him.”

“Plummeted. You’ve _plummeted_ ,” Sam corrected him. “Hurry up and take your shot.”

*

Bucky and Steve staggered into their apartment after much fumbling with their keys, and Bucky yelled “I call bathroom first!” before he practically sprinted in there, undoing his pants as he went.

“You suck,” Steve groaned after him as he locked up and shucked his jacket and shoes. Even after a trip to the men’s halfway through the night, they were both still only “borrowing” the beers they drank, and Bucky almost regretted the water that Monica insisted they had to stave off the inevitable hangovers. Steve heard Bucky’s long, loud stream into the toilet bowl through the closed door while he rummaged in the kitchen cabinets for Motrin, hoping to head a bad morning off at the pass.

He heard the toilet flush and the sounds of Bucky brushing his teeth. “Buck,” Steve moaned from outside the door, “can I get in their first before you practice your oral hygiene?”

“God,” Bucky mumbled through a mouthful of foam. “Sorry.” He came out, still brushing, and he let Steve rush in past him. Steve threw the toilet seat up with a clank and dropped his pants quickly. Bucky turned his back, continuing to brush just outside the door. He smiled blearily at Steve’s loud groan of relief.

“My bladder feels nonexistent right now. That beer went straight through me.”

“Did you have fun?” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah. ‘Course I did.”

“Good.” It came out sounding like “Guht” around his toothbrush. Steve flushed, washed his hands and reached for his own brush while Bucky came over to spit and rinse. 

“Seemed like you had a good time.”

“I did. I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“We can invite your friends next time, if you want.”

“I saw Logan there, actually. He stopped by for a minute while you and Wilson were playing pool. You’d like him.”

“You work with him, right?”

“Yeah. I grew up with him.” Steve grinned at him while he was brushing his teeth. “He said to thank you for the sandwiches. He ate half of them.”

“I like him already.”

They got ready for bed, and Steve wandered into Bucky’s room, stripped down to his undershirt and boxer briefs. He set his glasses down on Bucky’s dresser, and Bucky climbed into bed, burrowing into his arms before he could feel the worst of the chill in the room against his bare skin. “Oh, yeah,” he moaned as he made contact with Steve’s warm skin and solid bulk. “Feel so nice…”

“Shit. Hold on.” Steve scrambled back out of bed and shuffled off to the kitchen. He came back with Motrin for both of them and a glass of water. “Take two.” Bucky obediently reached for the green gel caps and popped them into his mouth. Steve took his own dose, and they chased it down with the water. Steve ran the glass back to the sink and practically dove back under the covers, to Bucky, and he picked up where they left off on the dance floor. He kissed him langorously, not minding the harsh note of beer on their breath. As much as Bucky had craved sex earlier, now all he wanted was to bask in his heat and their closeness. Steve seemed to have a similar idea in mind. He was just content to kiss him, and to stroke his skin with reverent fingers. They never quite worked up to the feverish momentum, but it took them a while to fall asleep. Bucky relearned all of the various ways Steve liked to kiss, before they both drifted off, once again listening to each other’s heartbeats.

They would talk eventually, Bucky decided as he drifted off. The lease. Staying married. All of it.

Soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. This chapter grew SO LONG and it STILL isn't finished. I will try not to leave anyone hanging. It's been hard to find inspiration, time and energy to write with everything that has been going on, lately.


	15. I Know I’ve Misbehaved, And We’ve Both Made Mistakes Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See the previous summary. Sam and Monica have an intimate little get-together to announce their engagement. For Steve and Bucky, things go a little sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize for this chapter, especially since the LAST one was so long.

“I wish you’d have gotten married on a bigger budget,” Sarah mused. “I don’t have any pictures of the two of you on your special day.”

Guilt lanced through Steve’s stomach. “I know that. We didn’t want to make a big fuss over it.”

“Yeah? Well, I would’ve made the big fuss _for_ you, buddy boy.”

She glanced at a photo booth strip of the two of them that lay on her coffee table. Steve and Bucky stopped at the one in the mall food court on a whim, while they were shopping for a wedding gift for Sam and Monica from their registry list. 

It was one of the few pictures they had of the two of them since they married at the courthouse. Because Clint had to have the last laugh, he brought them the framed picture of the two of them dipping at Peggy’s party, as a memento. (Steve had it saved on his phone as his screensaver. Bucky did, too.)

“You never even went on a honeymoon,” Sarah said. “Life’s short, Stevie. Live a little. Better yet, live a _lot_.”

“We just never got around to it.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

Sarah had a rough morning. Steve tried to arrange her more comfortably in her bed, at first, adjusting the height of the head and the feet in an attempt to soothe her sore hip. She eventually ended up back in the recliner. A quick call to Sarah’s oncologist later, Steve walked in through the door with a refill of her pain pills in a higher quantity than when it was first written. So many pills. Her kitchen counter looked like a pharmacy. Sarah tried to watch her soap operas for a while, but she grew melancholy. Steve changed the channel to Disney, and they watched three episodes in a row of Phineas and Ferb, just for a change of pace. When she began to have breakthrough pain, Steve attempted her heating pad and bundled her back up within her blankets. 

He called in late to work, promising to come in that afternoon. Bucky offered to take some time off from the bakery, insisting that Nat and Sharon could handle a few hours without him, but Steve pushed back firmly. “We can get by, Bucky. They need you. I can take care of Ma.”

“Maybe I wanna take care of _you_.”

Bucky’s voice on his end of the phone was soft, and slightly hurt.

“You don’t have to.”

“If you need help… or even just a minute to yourself, please speak up?”

In Sarah’s kitchen, while she napped, Steve closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his forehead, kneading away the tension. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

The _I’m here_ sentiment hung between them, even though Bucky didn’t speak the words aloud.

They rang off. Bucky was short with Sharon about the banana bread loaves that needed slicing and displaying, since it was one of the specials. Her smiles were tight and her replies were clipped and automatic. At the end of the day, Natasha had the temerity to bring him a cup of her tea.

“Is this a hint?”

“Yes.”

“Did I bite your heads off?”

“Yes.”

“Are you guys mad at me?”

“No. But we’d like our heads back, if you don’t mind.”

Bucky scrubbed his face with his palm. “I’m sorry, Nat.”

“Did Steve have a bad day?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” She looked stricken. “I’m so sorry, James.”

“I don’t know what to do for him. Or for her.”

“Make the most of your time with her.”

“I know. I want to. But at the same time, it’s Stevie’s time with her. Sometimes, he wants that time alone. I can’t horn in.” But then, he smiled fondly. Warmly.

“What? What’s that look for?”

“Stevie used to be in marching band. I got to see his photo albums from when he was a kid.”

Natasha’s own smile came out of hiding. “Oh, I bet that was classic.”

“He was tiny, Nat, and an absolute dork. He was so cute.” His voice was affectionate and fond. Nat could only call his smile, at that moment, absolutely _smitten_.

“I have photos of the two of us from the prom, buster. You were a dork, too.”

“Hey, I made that blue tux _work_.”

Natasha smothered a laugh. “If you say so, buddy.”

“You spent three weeks in the tanning booth just to look orange. Don’t judge my blue tux.”

She pouted at him. “I hate you.” She watched him sort invoices and cake orders. “Anyway, drink your tea. Oh, by the way, we’re going to Sam’s parents for the engagement party, too.”

“We’re bringing the dessert,” Bucky confirmed.

“Figured as much.” She leaned against the doorway and folded her arms. “Is Steve going to be able to make it?”

“If he can’t, we’ll sit this one out.”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sharon and I to maybe stay with Sarah for a few hours, so you can go?”

“You don’t have to. Steve would never agree to it. I can just hear him lecturing me now.”

“Sam’s your best friend. We don’t want you to have to miss out, either.”

“We might show up a little late, or just stay for an hour. It’s really going to depend on how Sarah feels, and how Steve feels about taking a break.”

“I get that.” Nat leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “Don’t let him take on too much of this by himself.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, buddy.” Bucky tasted the tea and “hm’ed” in approval. “This is decent. What’s in it?”

“That’s the green tea with ginger. Sharon bought it yesterday. Isn’t it good?”

“I’m not hating it right now.”

“I keep telling you, I’ll make you a tea convert, eventually.”

“Don’t bet on it, kiddo.” But it was good. The mellow notes of ginger and lemongrass were comforting, somehow, and he noticed the faint hint of honey that Natasha stirred into it.

“Might make you less of a basket case than all that French roast you keep pouring down your throat.”

“I don’t insult the thing _you_ love.”

“Better not. I help pay the bills,” Sharon warned as she came in carrying a spent milk bag inside its blue plastic crate. Bucky bit his lip, while Natasha narrowed her eyes at her fiancée.

“You were waiting forever with that one, weren’t you?”

“Who, me? Not me.”

“Yeah, you.”

“You wound me.”

Natasha’s lips twisted. “Speaking of insulting the things I love, Bucky, you and Steve need to get your dorky butts to the fitting we’ve got scheduled for you on next Friday.”

Bucky made a face. “Oh, God… really? You’re really making us wear suits?”

“Yes, and we expect _you_ to look halfway presentable, for a change.”

“What time Friday?”

“Five. We’ll close up the shop for you, but make sure you and Steve both make it. They need to have all of the men in time to make sure they have the right number of ties and vests.”

“If you would’ve just gone with everyone in black and white, it wouldn’t matter!” he accused.

“For a late spring wedding? Bite your tongue. Go ahead, bite it! I’ll wait.” Natasha folded her arms.

“Bite it, mister!” Sharon called out from the refrigerator as she rotated the milks by expiration date.

Bucky stuck his tongue out at Nat instead, earning himself her savage chuckle.

“You don’t deserve tea.”

“We’ll be there at Friday at five.”

“Good.” Nat smiled. “You’re going to look so good in those suits. I promise. I want you both in all of the pictures together.”

“Me and my pretend husband?” Bucky mocked, even though the words made him feel a little hollow inside. 

“ _Really?_ ” Sharon stomped out of the refrigerator and folded her arms, shifting her weight to one hip. “You’re still calling him that? Bucky. Buddy. PLEASE. In all the ways that count, that’s your one hundred percent, genuine, authentic, ride-or-die, no way it’s imitation husband. Steve’s your _person_. You’ve said so yourself! What the hell, Bucky?” 

“You _did_ admit you fell for him, last I checked,” Nat reminded him.

Bucky sighed heavily into his tea.

“Bucky? You aren’t really doing this?” Sharon leaned forward and poked him. “Just tell him. You _love_ him, and you want to stay ‘married’ married.”

“Six little words,” Nat added.

Bucky opened his mouth to argue, and then paused to do a brief word count in his head, even ticking them off on his fingers. “Oh. Guess it is. Technically.”

“I love you and I want to stay ‘married’ married, Steve is ten words.” 

“What if he doesn’t want to hear any of those words?” Bucky asked Nat. “We did this for a reason. For rent. And so Steve could manage things for Sarah without worrying about either of them needing a roof.”

“Maybe he also did it for company?” Sharon prodded. “Maybe he needed another adult in his corner to help him get through this and to care about him.”

“And even if that wasn’t his original reason – you’re giving me that look, Bucky, don’t you _dare_ argue with me – it’s fine to add on to that original reason and rewrite the lease.”

Speaking of which…

“Shit. I need to check in with Peggy. My landlady. She left me a note yesterday.”

“Ooh.” Natasha winced. “Nothing bad, I hope? She isn’t going to leave a pink notice on your door and your stuff out in the street?”

“Hope not,” he muttered. “We’ve been on time every month, and we haven’t been waking the neighbors.” At least, maybe not until _lately_. Bucky wasn’t a screamer, per se, but Steve could make _so many things that weren’t meant for polite ears_ come out of Bucky’s mouth, and Stevie wasn’t exactly restrained, either.

Nat read his mind with a brief, smug look. “Sure, you haven’t.”

“Shut up, Nat.”

*

But, anyway.

Bucky knocked lightly on Peggy’s office door, hearing her light, lilting British accent through it as she spoke to someone else on the phone. 

“I’d be beside myself if you didn’t come and do Easter with us, duckie. That restaurant you love, the one with the delicious lemon cake, is doing a special brunch.” Bucky heard her pause and chuckle, and it was filled with affection. “Oh, I’ll give you reason to show up on my doorstep, love.”

Bucky raised his brows and bit back a laugh at the emphasis she put on the right words. Well.

“Just a moment,” she called out to Bucky, once she saw his silhouette through the fogged glass windowpane of her door. “I need to speak with one of my tenants for a moment. Miss you, too, love. Stay naughty. Love you, sweet. Bye-bye.” Bucky waited, feeling the butterflies mount in his stomach. As far as he knew, there was no need for Peggy to have a “stern talk” with him, but he fretted about it, just the same. He was doubly glad that he found the note on the door before Steve did, because that man needed one more worry on his plate like he needed a hole in the head.

“Come on in,” Peggy beckoned. Bucky steeled himself and gave Peggy a bright smile. “Ah. Just the man I wanted to see.” She pulled a file folder out of her drawer and laid it open on her desk, nodding for him to sit. “Go ahead and shut the door, dearie.”

“Sure.” He did so quickly and sat, leaning forward expectantly, and she gave Bucky a knowing, calm smile.

“So. It’s time for you and your husband Steven to let me know if you’re planning to renew your lease this summer. Have you been enjoying your apartment?”

“Oh, God, yes!” Bucky laughed nervously and ran a hand through the back of his hair. “It’s been great. SO great.”

“Wonderful!” She slid his original lease agreement across the table at him and pointed to the date that he signed. “That day marks your anniversary, so mark your calendar. Are you considering another twelve months?”

“Uh. Steve and I have been meaning to sit down and talk about it, but he’s been… busy. He’s really occupied with taking care of his ma, right now.”

“Oh?” Peggy looked concerned. She slid a small dish of puffy mints across her desk to him, offering him one.

“Thank you.” They were Bucky’s favorites. He unwrapped one of the red-and-white striped balls and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm.”

“Angie gave me a box of goodies. Those were the first thing that I attacked as soon as my Gabriel opened it up for me.”

Bucky nodded as he finished the sweet. “Steve’s mother has bone cancer. She’s end-stage and on hospice. Steve sold her house to help her afford the place she’s living in right now.”

“Oh, dear. That’s practical of him, but how awful to have to give up his family home. Bless his sweet heart.” Peggy’s mouth formed a pitying moue. “And how difficult for you to watch your husband go through this, as well.”

“It has been, but we’re managing.”

“Mmm.” Peggy reached into the folder and removed two more slips of paper. “I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you, James.”

She showed him the Xerox copy of his last rent check, showing his name and Steve’s above the address. It was circled in black ink. She laid it atop her copy of their marriage certificate.

“This is a valid certificate?” she pried.

Bucky felt himself break out into a rash of sweat. “Yeah. Of course.”

“The date is the day before the date that you signed the lease.”

“Oh. Uh. Whaddya know,” he murmured. He folded his hands and crossed his ankles, not knowing how to sit, or to move, or to explain this that would make it look like anything less than a complete con job. Because, in the grand scheme of things, it was.

“That struck me as interesting, back when you first moved in. I didn’t have my reading glasses on that afternoon, but when I went to mark your rent receipt on my ledger the next day, I saw it, and I realized that I’d been neatly tricked.”

“Oh, no. Peggy, that’s not… we didn’t trick you, it’s-“

“Oh, James.” She tutted lightly under her breath and smiled at him, but it was brittle. “I’ll admit, my requirement for renting to married couples only protects me from tenants who only have the short term in mind. It’s not a moral preference, but a practical one.”

Bucky forgot every speech he had ever rehearsed in his head for the likelihood that this day, this moment, would ever arrive. 

“I’ve had tenants break a lease two or three months in when things didn’t go their way.”

“I’m sure you have, but, that’s… that’s not Stevie and me. Honest, Peggy. I swear, Stevie and I are married, that’s a legitimate certificate –“

“Legitimate, but a little hasty?” she challenged.

Bucky sighed raggedly and hung his head, staring down at his hands. Panic and frustration swamped him. “What made you look again at the marriage certificate?

“Your checks. You paid me in money orders or cash before. Not that I mind. It’s hard-earned money, either way. But this…” She held up the check. “This assumes a little more permanence. Feels a little more concrete.” She paused. “Is it?”

Bucky steeled himself again. “Yes.”

“It’s not just an arrangement?”

“It’s not. It’s _really_ not. God, Peggy… it’s legitimate. We’re married, and it’s genuine! I swear!”

“Dearie, you look a bit pale. Don’t panic.”

“Please, don’t take away the apartment! Please don’t kick us out!”

“Why would I? It’s a bit late for that now, and you’ve actually been model tenants.” She pointed to their ledger sheet. “Everything is up to date. I’m just wondering something, however.”

“What?”

“You’re uncertain if Steve wants to stay on the lease?”

Bucky exhaled. “Yes.”

“You really don’t know?”

“It’s… I can’t assume anything on his behalf. It’s… it’s up to him. I’ll go along with whatever Stevie wants.” Bucky’s voice was soft and tired. “I want to make things easier for him. He’s going through so much, Peg, and he’s got so much on his mind, and he’s happy with the apartment, too, the location, the view, the neighbors… it’s so nice here. My car hasn’t been broken into since we’ve been here, and my cat loves the space so much.” He smiled then. “My cat Iago loves Stevie as much as I do. It’s so great, watching her treat him like he’s part of the furniture. My cat doesn’t know the meaning of ‘personal space’ when Stevie’s around. She’s our little fur baby.”

Peggy’s lips twitched. “That sounds darling.”

“We’re all really enjoying living here together, and we’ve gotten so settled in, Peggy. Please, don’t kick us out. I’m sorry if… maybe we weren’t the most honest we could’ve been, but we aren’t cons.”

“No. Of course you’re not con men, dearie. I knew that back when Angie came to visit last. She pointed out what was between you two, even though I could see it with my own two eyes. Gabriel could, too.” She sounded amused at his expense, but Bucky was too confused to be offended.

“Huh?”

“Angie. She’s always been a bit blunt, but that’s part of her charm, and why our love has endured for so long. You might not have noticed, but Angie and Gabriel and I share… an interesting arrangement. Unconventional, I guess you could call it.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“You’re a transparent man, James Barnes. You wear that big, clever heart of yours on your sleeve. I can tell you love that big, ridiculous husband of yours beyond reason. I’ve forgive him for not being that light on his feet. Angie agreed with me that a few more lessons wouldn’t kill either of you. You could perhaps handle a simple quick step, or a merengue. But, in the meantime, I’m going to be a bit blunt, myself. I’ve never hedged or minced words before, and I have no plans to start now: A marriage isn’t just a piece of paper. It’s two people – two somewhat daft men who really need to have more constructive conversations about their feelings and expectations, in your case – who are willing to carry each other through everything that this world throws at them. Plant yourselves like trees, James. Set down roots with that man of yours, and don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t. I’m certainly not telling you that you can’t.”

Bucky was flummoxed. He felt like she’d cheerfully walked up to him and shoved him backwards and fully clothed into a swimming pool.

“So.” It took him a minute to catch up. “You’re telling me we can stay? That you’re not kicking us out for lying to you?”

“After a fashion, yes. I’m glad you took that away from this discussion, James.”

“Okay.”

“Let me know,” Peggy told him. “I want to update my ads on Zillow and Craigslist for the number of empty units that I have available. Wade and Vanessa are moving to Canada next month. I’m going to be so sorry to see them go, even though Wade had his eccentricities.”

“He was convinced that Iago could speak to him in German.”

“Yes! To his credit, he is a polyglot. Wade was quite fluent, but I can’t speak to your cat’s fluency, certainly.”

Bucky chuckled into his palm and nodded. “All right. I’ll get back to Stevie about the lease.”

“Give him my best. And please let him know how sorry I am about his mother. She must be a lovely woman to have raised such a kind son.”

Bucky nodded soberly. “She really is, and she did.”

“You look tired,” she mentioned as Bucky stood from his seat.

“I’m worried about her. And about him. He loves her so much, and this is killing him a little more every day.”

“It’s having quite the effect on you, too,” Peggy reminded him. “All right, then. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll make a note on your file that you tentatively plan to renew.”

“Thank you, Peggy.”

“And, James? I want to point out that your husband managed to dip you with remarkably little effort. I think he’s strong enough to carry you through your own worries and challenges, too. Give him credit and let him shoulder some of it?”

Bucky shrugged and held out his hands. He gave her a helpless smile. “It’s not the right time for that, though.”

“There’s no such thing as a ‘right time.’ Only a right one,” she corrected him. “Take care, Mr. Barnes.”

“Have a good day, Peggy.”

Peggy stared down thoughtfully at their file after he left, musing.

*

 

Bucky eyed himself in the hallway mirror when he got home, contemplating his face. His hair. He ran his hand through it. It could definitely stand a trim, just to neaten it up, but…

He just felt _scruffy_. He remembered how pleased Steve looked before, when he shaved for their night out. How much he enjoyed the smoothness of his skin. Steve himself always looked so sharp and well put-together. Together, the two of them were such an odd couple, sometimes. Bucky lived in his flannels and battered jeans, while Steve wore his pants pleated knife-sharp and never had a hair out of place. There was something about Bucky’s talk with Peggy that lit a fire inside him. Bucky couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the revelations she’d shared with Bucky, the way that she put the way she saw their “marriage” on the table that really made Bucky look at it differently. He’d felt the same spark of excitement when he made the gingerbread house for Steve.

Sometimes, it was just nice to do a little something extra. Something special. 

Bucky felt his phone vibrate with a new text from Steve, and he pulled it out of his pocket and swiped the screen.

_Coming home in an hour. Finishing up a pamphlet design, then I have to go to Walgreens again for Ma._ Bucky sighed; they practically lived at the pharmacy, lately.

_That’s fine, Stevie._

Steve’s next text shot back immediately. _What are we wearing to Sam’s tonight?_

Bucky grinned. He’d been wondering that, himself. _Why? Wanna be the Bobbsey Twins?_

Steve shot back an emoji that stuck its tongue out at him. _Jerk. I just want us to look nice. But I wouldn’t mind it if we matched a little. It’s your call. Should I stop at Penney’s?_

Bucky made a noise of agreement. _I have a blue sweater I got there a little while back._

_You mean the V-necked one with the cable knit?_ Then, he added _I really like that one on you_ before Bucky could reply. His cheeks warmed at the thought that his husband had an opinion on how he looked in his clothes. It just pleased him, and it made Bucky’s slowly forming plan become a little clearer.

_I don’t mind my old man in blue, either, pal. You don’t exactly look horrible in it._

Bucky guessed he deserved it when Steve sent back, _You’re such a jerk. Swear to God, Barnes._

And, because Bucky felt emboldened after his talk with Peggy, he sent back, _Just one more reason why you love me, pal. And who wouldn’t?_

*

 

At his work desk, Steve smirked down at the phone screen. He typed a tentative reply, then erased it. Then, another, before letting that one die a premature death, too.

It took him another moment, and a deep, cleansing breath, before he wrote back:

“You ask me like I couldn’t come up with a whole long list of people- oh, you PUNK!” Bucky cackled. “I see how it is,” Bucky told his phone screen, giving it a little shake. “We’ll see about that.”

And he dialed his hair salon, checking to see if they could fit him in. Time for some razzle dazzle.

*

Bucky knew Steve wasn’t going to come up with anything quickly at Penney’s. They were still liquidating after Christmas clearance, and the men’s section was a picked-over mess. It didn’t help that Steve was a picky shopper, either. So, Bucky knew he had time to beat him home, even if he sat down in the stylist’s chair and asked for the works.

His brows still smarted from the wax and tweezers, and his skin tingled from the hot towel following his shave. His nape felt naked and cool, and it was strange to pat it briefly and feel only the slight stubble left from the clippers instead of the unruly, thick waves, but when Bucky examined himself in the handheld mirror that his stylist handed him once she was done, he smiled slowly and nodded, handing her a generous tip.

“You worked a miracle, kiddo.”

“Big night?”

“It could be.”

She grinned down at him. “Whatever you’ve got planned, you look the part. You clean up _really_ nice. I’d bring you home to my parents.”

“Perfect.”

When Bucky pulled his car into his parking space behind the complex, he got another text. 

_Your so-called best friend took this._ It was a candid shot of Steve and Bucky cutting a rug at the bar. Wilson had to have taken it, just to get his goat. Bucky noticed that Steve’s text beat Sam’s by a second, and he guffawed at Sam’s claim of _Neither one of y’all’s got moves._

Bucky got out of the car, toting a small bag of hair products that his stylist talked him into at the register to better preserve his look. Steve would appreciate the styling wax, Bucky knew. He called Steve back. “You home yet?” He didn’t see Sarah’s car parked yet even as he asked. Steve sounded huffy and frustrated.

“Nah. I’m just checking out at Penney’s. It’s mobbed in here. They already have their spring clothes out, Buck. Easter dresses as far as the eye can see.”

“Nice.”

“I managed to find something halfway decent. You’ll have to let me know if it’ll work, or if it’s back to the drawing board.”

“You’ll look fine, Stevie.”

“Why does it sound like you’re outside?”

“I’m just coming inside and heading upstairs,” Bucky corrected him. “I’ll see you back here, okay? We’ll work out what we’re gonna put on when you get here. It’ll be fine, okay?”

“I bought what I got with that sweater of yours in mind. I hope you have it out.”

“Let me just make sure it’s even _clean_ ,” Bucky teased.

“Geez, Bucky!”

“Quit frettin’, Rogers. Just get back here.” Bucky already knew that sweater was hanging in his closet, right beside his good, dove gray dress slacks. Bucky entered the lobby of the apartment building and nodded to Bobbi as he passed. She gave him a low whistle of appreciation.

“Hubba, _hubba_. Wow. Look at _you_. Lookin’ sharp there, pal.”

“Thanks!”

“No, really. You clean up very pretty. This look is a lot more ‘GQ’ and a lot less ‘Sasquatch Lumberjack.’ Now you don’t look like an ad for Doc Martens.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in response. “Thanks, I think..”

“Oh, I’m just giving you a hard time. Have a good time tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“Seriously, though. Has Steve even seen you with short hair?”

“Not as an adult with it.” Becca had, however, texted Steve a picture of Bucky in junior high, just to prove that Steve hadn’t been the only one with a dorky phase, and Steve hadn’t let him hear the end of it.

“Well, you look more grown up. I like this version of you. Knock him dead, buddy.”

“See you later, Bobbi.”

The blonde waved him off and walked Lucky out of the lobby, giving the dog a generous amount of leash. Bucky let himself into his apartment and texted Sam a brief selfie.

Sam sent back to him, _Holy shit. That’s you, circa 1997. What made you take the plunge and look civilized?_

_Just wanted a change._

He pictured Sam’s smirk, before Sam replied _Someone’s trying to get himself some. But that’s none of my business._ He sent it with little teacup emojis, making Bucky snort in disgust. Really, Wilson?

But Sam sent him another reply. _Just got back from the barbershop, too. And I’m looking TIGHT._ Because of course Sam was. Bucky knew it was Sam’s big night, but he felt butterflies himself. 

They were already married, Bucky reasoned. Steve was already his husband. He knew that Steve snored and frequently farted in his sleep. He knew how he brushed his teeth and how badly he sang in the shower and how he liked his eggs and the face he made right before he climaxed. They were going to an engagement party to support Sam and Monica, right? So why did that make Bucky antsy? Why did he feel like he was the one who was announcing an engagement?

Bucky climbed into the shower after laying out his clothes, mindful enough of his hair that he put on a shower cap first to block out the frizz-causing steam. Three minutes in, he heard Steve come in and lock the door after himself. “Buck, I’m home!” he called out.

“Hey, Stevie! Bout time!” Bucky smirked as he heard Steve’s footsteps thudding toward the door.

“I hurried home to start getting ready for your best friend’s engagement party, and you’re really gonna talk shit right now?” he muttered through the crack of the door.

“Yup!” Bucky chirped back.

“Asshole.” Steve snickered.

“You would’ve been disappointed if I didn’t. Hear all that mooing from the living room? Those are the cows that managed to come home before you did, Rogers!”

“That was awful. You should be ashamed of yourself, Bucky.”

“I question my life choices every day. One more think you love about me, since you needed one more thing to add to that list…”

Bucky peeked out through the shower curtain and saw Steve peeking back in at him through the bathroom door. And Steve laughed unrepentantly at the sight of him in the shower cap.

“That’s a good look.”

“Like it? I make it work.”

“Save me some hot water?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” Bucky cranked off the tap and reached for a towel. Steve couldn’t see the full effect of his handiwork yet, but he took in his brows and jawline and huffed.

“You manscaped.”

“A little.”

“Nice.” He leaned in and kissed Bucky, caressing his now-smooth, flushed jaw. “I’ll show you what I picked out in a minute. Unless you wanna help me with my shower?”

Bucky’s toes curled at the thought. “Uh-uh. Let’s get ready and get this show on the road.” But he gave Steve a consolation kiss and reached down to give Steve’s ass a welcome home squeeze. 

“Jerk.”

“C’mon, slowpoke!” And Bucky hurried away before Steve could swat him.

Bucky got out his sweater, slacks, and a white button-down shirt that was already ironed. He heard Steve restart the shower while he pawed through his bureau drawer for briefs and socks. Bucky dropped the towel and shower cap on the floor and began to get himself ready. In ten minutes, he was dressed except for his shoes, and he was sliding his watch onto his wrist when he heard Steve close his own bedroom door. They shared beds more regularly, but they both enjoyed having separate, ample closet space for the moment. Bucky joked that they needed Lucy and Ricky twin beds, earning himself an eye roll from Steve and his assertion that he wasn’t going to start wearing a polka-dotted bathrobe like Ricky’s, no matter how much Bucky paid him.

He heard the rustle of shopping bags. “I think you’ll like what I picked out, Buck.”

“I’ll love it, buddy. You’re gonna look like a million bucks. Might hafta show you just how much I like it when we get back, Rogers.”

“You were naked a minute ago, and you tell me that _now_.”

That made Bucky smile as he laced up his black leather dress shoes.

Within a few minutes, Steve gave Bucky’s bedroom door a nudge, letting the hinge groan a little as it tipped open to show Bucky his efforts. “Do you think this is too much for Sam’s… parents… uh. Wow.” The last word was filled with quiet awe.

“Hey, we _do_ match!” Bucky’s grin was automatic as he reached forward and stroked Steve’s sweater. “That’s nice, is that cashmere?”

“It got it from Penney’s. Not Nordstrom’s. Buck. What… what’d you do to yourself?”

And Steve’s expression was stunned. He reached up to caress Bucky’s jaw again, this time taking in the full effect of his fresh haircut, shorter than he’d ever seen it. It no longer hung past his collar, and the soft, thick dark waves were styled with a little more volume over his brow, revealing his broad forehead and neatly groomed brows.

And those eyes. Those beautiful eyes, like cloudy tourmalines.

“What do you think?”

“It’s. You.” And Steve’s smile was reverent. “You look… wow. It’s just… it’s such a change.”

“Do you like it?” Bucky inched back and rubbed his nape uncertainly.

“Bucky… do I like it?” 

“I could grow it back if not, but it’ll take a little longer than it did to have it-“

Steve reached for him and pulled him into a hungry, possessive kiss. Bucky groaned at the feel of Steve’s hands on him and their shared heat, and they let the kisses linger. 

“-cut.”

“You don’t have to hurry to grow it back, Buck, unless you were really attached to it. You’re gorgeous either way. Y’know that, right? I’m gonna have a hard time keeping my hands off of you tonight, looking the way you do.” Steve’s eyes swept over him mischievously. “How long do we have to stay at the party, again?”

“Long enough for the announcement and the toast. Figure we can at least last through dinner,” Bucky murmured. He kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth when he made a disappointed groan.

“All the way through dinner?”

“It’s the polite thing to do.” Bucky didn’t tell him that Wilson would never let him hear the end of it if they cut out early, especially after that photo that he took of the two of them. _He’d show Wilson that they had moves._

“When have you ever cared about being polite? You and Barton had that farting contest when we went to his place last week for corn bread and chili night!”

“He won,” Bucky reminded him.

“I swear to God, Bucky, if you love me at all, don’t have a rematch.”

“What? He _won_!” Bucky insisted.

He didn’t quite catch the more meaningful part of Steve’s plea.

_If you love me at all._

They gathered up their coats and locked up, bundled themselves into Bucky’s Mustang, and headed to Sam’s, following Bucky’s reassurance that Sharon and Nat were bringing the dessert and that they were on their way.

*

They drove for about a half an hour and noticed that the brownstones and businesses with iron security bars over the windows eventually gave way to Colonial-style houses with lawn jockeys and garden gnomes. Sam’s parents lived in the ‘burbs, and Bucky realized that he was going to have to park a couple of blocks down once he saw the cars jammed around the cul-de-sac.

Steve had spent the ride stealing looks at Bucky’s profile in the dark, watching the street lights flicker over his skin. Buck would feel his eyes on him and turned every now and again to ask him, “What?”

“Nothing. It’s… nothing. No big deal.”

“Something on your mind, Stevie?”

“Uh-uh. I’m good.”

Bucky misread his expression and reached over and patted his knee fondly. “Hey. It’s gonna be fine. Sam’s folks are really nice. His mom’s a sweetheart. She’ll treat you like family. I mean, you’ve met Sam, right?” Bucky laughed. “Sometimes, I think my mom loves him more than she loves _me_.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“They’ll love you.” He gave Steve’s knee a squeeze and one last, reassuring look before he returned his attention to the road.

They circled the block again to try to find a space to park, and they finally parked three blocks down from the Wilsons’ gorgeous two-story home with its brick steps leading up to a large porch. Bucky and Steve could hear the party inside from the street, including Sam’s distinctive laughter and jibes. Low strains of Nat King Cole underscored the chatter as they walked up the steps. Bucky huddled close to Steve as he knocked on the door with the heavy iron knocker. He rubbed his back and kissed Steve’s cheek.

“Hey, if I haven’t mentioned it, Stevie? Thanks for coming with me to this. I know you’ve had a lot on your mind, and it means a lot.”

“It’s your best friend. It’s an engagement party, Bucky. This is the stuff that married people _do_ ,” Steve reminded him. His smile was genuine, but Bucky still heard resignation and worry in his voice.

“They’re gonna love you,” Bucky told him again. “I just know it.”

That warmed Steve’s insides, and he accepted another brief, soft kiss from his husband just before Sam tugged open the door. He grinned at them and let out a burst of laughter when he got a good look at his former roommate.

“Oh, my Lord, Barnes! Land sakes alive! You really did it! Y’all, c’mon in before we let out all the heat! Mama’s got some of her famous cider in the kitchen, and Pop’s telling the bat in the attic story again!” Sam gathered them inside and gave them both back-clapping hugs. “Your boy cleans up nice, Rogers! How did you talk him into it?”

“I didn’t have to say a word,” Steve argued. He stared at Bucky as he told Sam, “He did this all on his own.”

“Well, it’s a damn improvement. There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect messy ponytail,’ Barnes, no matter what _Marie Claire_ tells you.”

“Oh, that’s how it is, Wilson?”

“That’s how it is. I don’t make the rules. Seriously, though, man, married life looks good on you!”

“It sure does!” Monica swept over, dressed in a soft, garnet red sweater dress and calf-length black boots. She looked radiant and beautiful, and she kissed Sam’s cheek as she joined him, wrapping her arm around his waist. “I almost didn’t recognize you, Bucky.”

“He’s still not as cute as me, though?” Sam pressed.

“Of course not, baby,” she cooed. Sam leaned down and rubbed noses with her in sickeningly cute fashion, giving him more soft, pecking kisses until Bucky made gagging sounds. Sam shot him the stink-eye while Steve laughed.

“And you called me whipped?” Bucky accused.

“That haircut? That says ‘whipped’ all day long, Barnes!”

Steve snickered into his fist. Sam’s sister Sarah sidled up to Bucky and poked him, demanding a hug.

“Looking good, big brother,” she told him. “Let me take your coat and flirt with your friend.”

Sam grinned at that, while Steve, predictably, blushed. “This is my husband, Steve.”

“Get out of the house! Husband??? When did you tie the knot?”

“This summer,” Bucky told her.

“We, uh. Had a short. Engagement,” Steve finished, unsure of how to explain it. Sam raised his eyebrow, but Monica just smiled, nodding.

“Unlike this man, right here, who let a woman dangle _forever_ while we _lived in sin_ -“

“Whaaaaaaat?” Sam demurred, giving her his best, wounded “Who, me?” expression and raising his hand to his chest.

“All he ever talked about was you when he was still living with me,” Bucky assured her. “Monica, Monica, Monica, that’s all that ever came out of this guy’s mouth.” That pleased her. “Mrs. Monica Wilson has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” she agreed.

And for the next few minutes, Bucky and Steve slowly made the rounds of introductions to Sam’s high school friends. Some of them, Steve recognized from Bucky’s yearbook in his bookshelf. His friend Tim Dugan was built like a bear, had an impressive, ginger, handle-bar mustache, and had put on a few pounds since his high school quarterback days, but he size Steve up as he shook his hand, and pulled him in for a hug that made Steve grunt.

“What do you do for a living?”

“Graphic design and marketing?”

“So, you an artist of some kind?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

Tim bellowed a laugh and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “You can draw your hubby like one of your French girls, then!” Bucky’s other classmates chortled at this; his friend Jim nearly choked on a mouthful of beer.

“If I can get him to sit still long enough,” Steve murmured.

Tim leaned in and murmured back, “You’re missin’ the point, buddy.” He leaned in even closer and whispered loudly, “The whole point is to get him _naked_.” That made everyone in the vicinity hoot, especially when they heard Steve’s low “Uh” and saw his expression.

Sam’s parents, as promised, were sweet and jovial. Sam got his smile from Darlene. She had warm hugs and a kiss for Bucky, and she kept an arm wrapped around him as she told one of Sam’s aunts, “You remember James? This was Sam’s best friend since elementary school!” Her voice was filled with pride, and Bucky realized just how much he’d missed her, and his visits to the Wilson’s home. He hoped they would be able to reconnect now that Sam was stateside again.

“Darlene, this is my husband, Steve.”

“Hold on, now… your _husband?_ ” Her mouth dropped open in a perfect ‘O’ of surprise. “What’s this I’m hearing? You went and got _married_?!” She turned to Paul, interrupting his efforts with opening a bag of dinner rolls at the buffet table. “Paul, did you just hear James tell me that he got _married_?”

Steve bit his lip. Bucky was blushing. Normally, between the two of them, Steve was the one who couldn’t keep his chagrin off his face, and he always colored up like a raspberry. But it was a welcome, amusing change to watch Bucky get absolutely _bashful_. Darlene gave Bucky a friendly swat. “You little sneak! You ran off and got yourself all married up to this young man right here?”

Now Steve was sharing Bucky’s blush. “Hello, Darlene. I’m, uh. I’m Steve.”

“Awwww, gimme some sugar!” Darlene released Bucky to engulf Steve in a perfumed hug, and Steve laughed at her surprising strength and energy. “Oh, my goodness! I’m going to have to have a talk with James at letting me miss out on seeing his big day, right after you and I get acquainted, Steve. Aren’t you a tall drink of water!”

Steve was flattered and pleased with the attention, and any awkwardness he felt quickly disappeared as she then reintroduced Bucky around the room, with the added context that Steve was his husband. Darlene held their names in her mouth like they were her other two sons, Paul and Sam’s brother Gideon pressed bottles of beer into their hands, and they worked the room, mingling and having a too-rare fun time.

It just felt so good to unwind.

Steve filled them both plates and they shared a recliner, with Bucky sitting on the cushion and Steve leaning against the arm of it. The house was crowded, and they had to lean in close as they talked with Sam and Monica.

“We’re headed to the Grand Cayman Islands two days after the ceremony,” Sam informed them. “We got a sweet deal on cruise tickets.”

“That sounds awesome,” Steve mused.

“Where did the two of you go on your honeymoon, again?” Monica asked.

“Uh…”

“We just… stayed in town. Work.”

“Bakery.”

“And, uh. Steve’s mom.”

“Oh. Right. I get that,” Monica agreed. Then her expression softened. “How is she doing?”

“Holding on. We’re keeping her comfortable,” Steve supplied.

Monica nodded, and then she stood up and enveloped Steve in an unexpected hug, rubbing his back. “I’m so sorry. Sam and I are here if you ever need anything.”

“I appreciate that.” 

“I’m so glad Bucky found you, did you know that?” Monica smiled as she stepped back and gave Bucky a knowing look. “This man, right here… he was a mess. An absolute mess. This is not the same man that Samuel moved in with.”

Bucky chuckled, while Sam nodded emphatically.

“You’ve changed this man.” Sam gave Bucky a look and demanded, “Who are you, and what’ve you done with my roommate?”

“He’s _my_ roommate, now,” Steve reminded him. “No takebacks!”

Steve placed a possessive hand on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky almost horked his beer up through his nose.

“You can keep those awful black plates,” Monica said. “Those come with the husband.”

“They didn’t come with _this_ husband!” Sam said, pointing to himself. “How’s that fair, woman?! You made me give up my good plates!”

“They weren’t good,” Monica mouthed to Steve, who was flushed and giggling, feeling the earliest effects of his beer.

As the night progressed, Steve and Bucky had to lean in close to hear everyone they spoke to over the music and noise. Natasha and Sharon eventually arrived with the desserts, both of them in winter white dresses, hair fluffed and curled, looking just as out of character as Bucky. Both women, much like Bucky did, lived in henleys and jeans. 

“I remember when you were James’ prom date! I still have the picture, see?” Darlene bragged as she kissed Natasha on the cheek.

“See how well that worked out for both of us,” Natasha teased.

“I know. I’ve just met _Steve_.” Sharon giggled and didn’t leave Darlene hanging for a high five. 

“I’d say everything worked out just fine.”

“Oh, well, look at this!” Darlene noticed something sparkling on Natasha’s left hand and waved her over for a closer look, beckon to her impatiently to spill the goods. “Oh, my goodness. That’s beautiful.”

“We’re tying the knot in two more months.” And Natasha looked excited enough to burst. Sharon wrapped an arm around her and showed Darlene her own engagement band, a Valentine’s Day gift from her fiancée. Both women radiated contentment and pride.

“That’s exciting. I know you two are going to be so happy.”

“Ecstatic,” Sharon pronounced.

“Especially once the stress of it is over. I just want to dance at my reception, toast my wife, and go on our honeymoon,” Natasha moaned. Sharon rolled her eyes and gave Natasha’s shoulders a little shake.

“Will you listen to her? She acts like she’s the only one who has been stressed!”

Steve excused himself, asking Gideon where the rest room was, and Bucky touched bases with his two assistant bakers. “Hey. I told Stevie the details for Friday.”

“Make sure you try on the shoes, too,” Natasha mentioned.

“Why? I’m coming to your wedding in my Doc Martens, and Stevie’s wearing Birkenstocks.”

“Oh, don’t _even_!” Natasha narrowed her eyes at Bucky, who just shrugged.

“What? We’ll blend in with everybody else! Nobody ever notices shoes at a wedding!”

“Blasphemy,” Sharon claimed. 

“Need me to smack him?” Monica offered.

“Please!”

“What? Docs are festive,” Bucky insisted. Sam giggled into his beer, shoulders shaking as he listened to Sharon and Natasha read him the riot act as only two brides-to-be could, with full endorsement from his _own_ fiancée. And of course that preceded more stories from Monica about Sam and Bucky’s “man cave” apartment in their old neighborhood and their previous late nights. To Sam’s utter shame, she left _nothing out_.

Steve returned, looking more relaxed and less fidgety. Bucky grinned. “You came back to me.”

“Had to return that beer that I borrowed.”

Bucky giggled against the lip of his own bottle.

“When did I get so old? One beer goes right through me.”

“Thanks for sharing that, Stevie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey. How you holding up, Stevie?”

Because he could tell that his husband’s buzz was already fading a little. Bucky could feel his tension slowly seeping back in, and he recognized his “I Need to Check in on Ma” face when he saw it.

“I called her before I came back here,” he admitted. “She keeps her phone by the recliner.”

“Good. How was she?”

“All right for the moment. I kinda wanna head out soon, to make sure she took her bedtime dose of her medicine and has enough blankets. It’s cold tonight.”

Bucky nodded in full agreement. “That’s fine. Hey, know what? Let me tell Sam?”

“You wanted to stick around for the announcement, Buck.”

“I know, but we’ve already been here for the good part.” Bucky waved his hand in the general direction of the room. “This was all the good part. Bragging to all of my old friends that I have a smoking hot new husband and showing him off on my arm.” And maybe it was the beer talking, just a little. Bucky’s smile was loose and easy, and he looped his arms around Steve’s waist once he set his beer down. “Did I mention how hot you look tonight, Stevie?”

“You could remind me, if ya wanted.”

“Oh, I’ll remind you.” Bucky’s voice curled suggestively around those words and trickled into Steve’s veins.

“Tell Sam, then. I’ll find our coats.”

“We’re gonna hafta give a lot of goodbyes on the way out.”

“Start rehearsing em, baby. You’ve got the car keys?”

Bucky patted his pants pocket, and they jingled in response. He wandered through the crowded living room and approached Sam, looping his arm around his shoulders. “Sammy. We’re going to head out.”

“Wait? Already?” Sam looked alarmed. “Hey, you’re going to miss the announcement! Know what? Let’s move it along. Before you two leave. Okay?”

Bucky felt pleased with Sam’s consideration. “You don’t have to do that. You’re enjoying your party.”

“I know. But you’re my best friend. Brothers for life. I want you and your man here for this. This isn’t something you miss.”

And Bucky, at that moment… felt a spark of true guilt. Guilt, and remorse that he’d been a _shitty_ friend. Because Sam had missed Bucky’s so-called “engagement.” And his actual _wedding_. Sam had missed the whole shebang, and now, here he was, making a pointed effort to let Bucky share his special moment. Before Bucky could protest any further, Sam went to the buffet table and picked up one of the wine glasses. “Can I have everyone’s attention?” Sam whistled shrilly across the room, even though his mother had taught him better than that, and he tapped the wine glass for emphasis.

“Don’t do that with my good crystal!” she scolded.

“Mama, give me a minute!” Sam argued back.

“Ooooooo, you’re gonna get it,” Sarah muttered as she sidled up to him.

“ _Excuse_ me,” he told her, with all of the requisite brotherly sass, “I have an announcement to make.” Monica joined him, rising from the edge of the couch, where she held court with Sharon and Natasha, continuing to discuss their wedding plans. “This amazing, perfect, saintly, beautiful woman has done me the honor of accepting my proposal of marriage, and when I asked her to be Mrs. Samuel Thomas Wilson, she said yes.” Cheers and applause thundered around the room. “We’ve got champagne and glasses here if anyone wants to join our toast.”

“We’re getting married on June sixteenth,” Monica informed them. “St. John’s AME Church, at three o’clock on the dot. We’re having the reception following that at the Red Room Grill.”

Ooh’s and aahs flew around the room, followed by more applause.

Sam waved Bucky over to him. “I need my wing man to be my best man,” Sam told him.

So many emotions warred in Bucky’s chest and tightened his throat. “Of course! I’m there for you, man!” Bucky hugged Sam hard. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sam.”

“That haircut won’t go to waste,” Sam joked. And Bucky heard the emotion in Sam’s voice, too; he was just as choked up, and it hit Bucky even harder that he couldn’t reciprocate this.

Sam and Steve never had an engagement party. Or a toast. No “Save the Date” cards or refrigerator magnets. No invitations. No bachelor party. Their gift registry was a joke, certainly, but they never made the effort. No muss. No fuss.

And no celebration. No sharing the good news. Just… a furtive quickie wedding in a bland, dusty courthouse, with generic vows and tungsten rings. No well-wishing. 

Bucky’s buzz evaporated completely, and when he turned to see if Steve was still ready to go, he saw all of his own recriminations mirrored on his face. It stung.

Darlene hugged Bucky again. “We need to get together more often than this. Not just when one of you is getting married.”

_Ouch_.

“You won’t hear me argue with that,” Bucky told her. “Thanks for everything. The food was amazing. I’ve missed you and Paul so much.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” Paul shook Bucky’s hand, and then Steve’s, before they shrugged into their coats. 

“I’m going to take our plates to the kitchen,” Steve told Bucky. “Wanna go start the car?”

“In a minute. It’s cold out there, Steve.” Bucky wasn’t in a rush to go back out into the bracing air, but he knew Steve was anxious to get back to Sarah. They had to make their goodbyes quick.

Steve collected their plates and empty beer bottles and bussed them to the kitchen. Sam pulled Bucky aside. “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, Sam.”

“You both looked like you were having a good time a little while ago, but I get the feeling the party’s really over for you right now. Is Steve all right?”

“He’s just worried about Sarah.”

Sam nodded in understanding, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “Hey, Bucky? Maybe I haven’t had a lot to say to you on the subject yet, but I want you and Steve to be happy. However that works out. I know… I know, that maybe you didn’t do things the old-fashioned way. I had my doubts, man, but just… look at you.” Sam grasped Bucky’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “This man is _good_ for you. You’ve got this… this glow. You’re different with him. Most people don’t answer a Craigslist ad and end up with a husband.”

“Most people aren’t me and Stevie.”

“Make sure the two of you only go to the courthouse once, then,” Sam teased. Bucky smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Steve managed to come back just in time to hear Sam’s crack, and Bucky felt a wash of awkwardness swamp him as Steve shook Sam’s hand.

“See you on June sixteenth,” Steve assured him.

Which was fair, Bucky realized, when you considered that their lease wasn’t up until late summer. So _of course_. That was a claim he could make with confidence.

Couldn’t he.

They waved their goodbyes at the door to save time, and they hurried to the car, breath escaping their mouths in misty gray puffs. Bucky turned on the car and wished not the first time that he had a new enough car for seat warmers. The car’s radiator was just as sluggish during the winter as the air conditioner was during the summer.

“You were right. They were nice.” Steve’s voice sounded stiff.

“Told you.”

“The lemon cake was good. It was rich.”

“That was a white chocolate ganache.”

“Oh. That’s what that was. It was tasty.”

They turned back onto the freeway, and neither one of them turned on the radio. Bucky felt exhaustion creep over him, making the tail lights in front of him look too bright. He rubbed his neck, and he felt a moment of confusion that his long hair was indeed gone.

“What did he mean when he told you to only go to the courthouse once?”

“Huh?”

“Sam. What did he mean when he said that?”

“Pfft… Sam was being Sam, Stevie. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You sure?”

Bucky huffed, frowning. “I don’t know. He was just kidding around. Sam does that.”

“Why was he kidding about that?”

“Steve?” Bucky twisted around to stare at Steve over his shoulder, dividing his attention between his husband and the road. Steve looked tired and a little frustrated. The hollows beneath his eyes looked deeper from fatigue and worry, and Bucky knew he was anxious to check in on his mom, but this felt like a conversation they needed to have. “Did that upset you?”

“Upset me? Why would it upset me? I mean, he’s right. We got married in a _courthouse._ ”

Bucky mentally counted to five before he formed a response. “Yes. Yes, we did. We agreed that was convenient.”

“How much did you tell him about that? About why?”

“Stevie, Sam knows! It’s no big deal! He knew I was getting a new roommate, anyway. He knew about our arrangement. Just like Nat and Sharon knew,” he pointed out.

“Nat and Sharon were actually there,” Steve reminded him.

“Sam was out of the country,” Bucky reminded _him_ , letting his voice lift tellingly on the last word. “It wasn’t a big deal to tell Sam. It wasn’t like he ran out and told everybody else.”

Steve’s mouth was tight around the corners. “Did his parents know?”

“I doubt it. Did they seem like they knew when you met them? They seemed pretty excited to meet you,” Bucky told him. “That seemed pretty damned genuine to me, Rogers.”

And Bucky knew that maybe it was the lateness of the hour; it was almost ten o’clock, and like any other weekday, he’d been awake since five AM. All he wanted was his pajamas, his fluffy pillow, his down comforter and flannel sheets, and his husband’s warm, solid body curled around his back, with his soft breath misting over his nape.

Steve apparently wanted explanations. All of the explanations, with a side helping of drama, and Bucky sighed when Steve asked him, “What did you think he meant when he mentioned the courthouse, Bucky?”

“Steve!”

“Tell me what you thought.”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to know. What was your opinion when he first said it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he meant don’t get married in one again.”

Steve tensed, and Bucky immediately regretted his answer.

“To me?”

“To you? Steve. STEVE! C’mon!” Bucky slapped the steering wheel. “That wasn’t what he meant!”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know _Sam!_ My best friend wouldn’t warn me against marrying the guy I’m already married to again! And not just because it would be a dick move, but because he _likes_ you! Couldn’t you tell? Everybody there was crazy about you, Steve! I could tell!”

Steve was working something out in his head. He bowed his face into his fingers and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He made a low growl of frustration.

“Did he support it?”

“Support what, Steve?”

“Us. Us getting married to get the apartment.”

Confusion grappled with Bucky’s growing annoyance, and his voice came out sounding angrier than he intended. “Steve… _what?_ So, I need Sam’s support? I need his permission to marry you in a quickie wedding to get us the nice apartment and pay less rent? I need his go-ahead to _be_ with you?”

The concept was laughable, but Bucky wasn’t amused.

“Was he against it?”Steve prodded again.

“No more than any other guy would be when I explained that I was moving in with and marrying a guy I met on the internet within a week. How’s that sound? Is that what you wanted to know?”

Steve’s expression was mulish, and that divot was planted firmly between his brows. Bucky didn’t want this. He didn’t want this cloud of discord between them, poisoning their every word. But he hated Steve’s uncertainty. 

“Did you ever tell him that you actually knew me? Maybe that would have made it sound better, Bucky. Or was it a kick to tell Sam I was just some rando that agreed to it?”

“Where is this coming from?” Bucky was glad there was no music playing, or he would have grown hoarse from trying to shout over it. His voice still sounded too loud to his own ears, and Steve’s rose in volume, too. His hands were balled into fists in his lap as he craned himself around to face Bucky. Florid spots rose up into his cheeks, and he looked so upset. They needed to work this out, but it would have been better when they were fresh after a night’s sleep. When they had the chance to step back and think about it all and process what Sam said in a better context. And use their grownup words.

“Steve, I didn’t really know the real you until we moved in together! Don’t you get that? I mean, you used to give me shit about my banana bread!”

“What? I did _not_!”

“The hell you didn’t! You’d stand there and ask me if my goddamn almond milk was locally sourced and if my honey was organic, or why I didn’t make the cranberry muffins a daily item instead of a weekly special!” And Bucky knew why, on that last one, and he even noticed Steve’s nostrils flare when he mentioned it, but he pressed on, because he couldn’t stop himself until he reached Full Assholish Potential on that car ride back into town. “That’s not the same thing as _knowing_ you, Rogers!”

“Oh, it’s not, huh? I left you with that bad of an impression?”

“Oh, will you _stop?!_ ”

“No. Tell me more about what a douche I was, Buck. I’m dyin’ t’hear it.”

“Steve…”

“Go on. Tell me.”

And there was a hitch in his voice that Bucky would give anything to clear away, like a stubborn streak on a pristine windowpane, because Bucky never wanted to hear his Stevie sound like that. “Uh-uh.”

“Why not? We’re sharing right now.”

“No. No, we’re not. We’re not sharing this. Because you didn’t leave me with a ‘bad impression.’ Okay? Listen to me when I tell you that wasn’t the case at all.”

“You sure?”

“Positive, mister.”

“And their voices dropped a decibel or two. Bucky faced the road, and his own voice sounded hoarse and a little unsteady. “I don’t want you ever to think that, Rogers.”

“Why?”

“Because it ain’t true, that’s why. When I told you I didn’t know you yet… Steve. It’s. It’s because I really didn’t know you, yet. I just needed the chance to get to know you. I needed to get to know the Steven Grant Rogers who can’t cook to save his life. And who can draw skyscapes of Manhattan when I can’t even draw a stick figure without it lookin’ lopsided. I needed to see my cat crawling all over you like you and you not minding her shedding all over you whenever you wear dark clothes, and you acting like you don’t give a damn about it.” Bucky felt his own voice choke up a little, but he pressed on. “Quickie wedding or not, I ain’t marrying a guy who doesn’t like cats, Steve-O.”

“Oh. So you do have a type.”

“Oh, yeah. I really do.” And Bucky kept facing the road, but he felt his eyes burn. “Sam laughed at me when I first told him, but he wasn’t against it, Steve. Okay? He’s had the chance to meet you, and to get to know you, and I know he’s gonna enjoy hanging out with us even more, now, once he and Monica move back into town. I want that to be a part of our life. You like it when we hang out with Sharon and Nat, and Bobbi and Clint, right?”

“Yeah. S’nice.”

“They love you,” Bucky told him. “Just in case you were wonderin’ about that, Steve. They really do. All my friends like you more than they like me, and I can’t blame ‘em. Becca does, too. And Sam will, too.”

They pulled into Sarah’s complex and took the last guest parking spot. Bucky left the engine running as he engaged the parking brake. He reached across the car and took Steve’s hand, tugging it out of his lap from its tightly curled ball and threading his fingers through it. “Please believe me when I tell you that the way I feel about you – about us – doesn’t, and could never, depend on how my best friend and his first impression of how we got together, Steven Grant Rogers.”

Bucky’s thumb stroked Steve’s knuckles soothingly; Steve’s thumb trapped his in place, and he squeezed his hand back. His eyes were tired, with the additional bonus of being bloodshot. And wet. “C’mere, baby…”

They hugged within the now-stuffy confines of the car. Bucky longed to tell him the words.

Steve wanted so badly to tell him how he felt. Wanted more than the reassurance that Sam’s “courthouse” remark hadn’t been a jibe about the two of them potentially getting _divorced_ , because that concept petrified him and left him raw. He clung to Bucky and felt his soft lips brush the side of his neck.

“Can we talk about this tomorrow?” Bucky suggested. “I just feel like there’s still some stuff we need to work out. Stuff that might feel better if we sleep on it?”

“Okay.” Steve’s voice was hoarse and soft. “That’s fine.”

The whole night was just so much to process. It raised so many questions, and it challenged Steve’s notion of what he wanted from his life with Bucky, driving home everything that they’d missed. 

And the worst part was, after getting off to such a dubious start, how would they move forward? Steve wished he had the answers.

“I wish I could’ve danced with Ma at the reception.”

Bucky closed his eyes and tightened his arms around him. “God, Stevie, so do I.”

“It’s. I know it’s stupid, but-“

“No, it’s not. It’s okay to want that. I wish you could’ve, too. That’s the best part about a big wedding.”

“I wish.” His voice was halting and uneven. “I wish we could’ve had both of our moms walkin’ us down the aisle. Lighting the candles.” Bucky nodded. Becca’s mother-in-law and Winifred lit their wedding candle with Becca and Mark’s baptism candles. It was a beautiful moment and a memory that survived his sister’s too-short marriage. “It was hard tonight, Buck. I had a good time with you. I would’ve anyway, because I was with _you_.” Bucky rubbed Steve’s back through his heavy coat and nodded against his shoulder. “But it was still so hard.”

“It was hard for me, too.”

Because Bucky wanted those things, too. Greeting the pastor at the end of the aisle. The vows. Dancing with Steve at the reception, now that they had some semblance of knowing how.

He wanted the memories. The permanence of it. He didn’t just want their wedding date typed on a piece of watermarked paper. And Bucky didn’t just want a renewed lease.

He wanted his husband to love him forever. 

For richer or poorer? Check. They were broke, with all of Bucky’s bakery expenses and Sarah’s hospital bills, but there was no one Bucky wanted to be poor with more than Steve.

In sickness and in health? Check that off the list, too. Steve’s compulsiveness about his own health and constant worry about Bucky’s chronic pain, and their responsibility for Sarah was something they could live with, and that would make them stronger if they were willing to go the distance.

They could do this. _They could do this_.

“Let’s go inside.” Bucky reluctantly let go of him and turned off the ignition. He heard Steve sniffle and pretended he didn’t as they headed for her front door. Steve took Bucky’s hand in his as he knocked. 

“Ma?” he called to her gently.

“Come in,” Sarah called back. Her voice lacked its usual starch, but she still sounded alert. Steve used his spare key and let them both inside. They hung up their coats in the foyer, and when Sarah greeted them, she let out a low whistle of appreciation.

“Oh, my. Let me get a load of you two. My two handsome boys.” Her eyes shone with delight when she saw Bucky. “Don’t you look spiffy. Bet the two of you were beating ‘em off with a stick all night. You said you went to your friend Sam’s engagement party?” She patted the edge of the couch for Bucky and Steve to sit down, and she leaned over the edge of the recliner’s arm to touch Bucky’s hair, patting the soft, orderly waves. “Get a load of you,” she repeated. “Look at this handsome guy, Stevie. You clean up nice.”

“Thought it was time for a change,” he admitted. 

“It suits you. When you had the longer hair, you just saw the hair. Now, I see you, instead. And you’re a cutie pie.” She pinched Bucky’s cheek.

“Awwwwww!”

Steve smirked and nodded in agreement. “He is pretty cute.”

“Both of you are. I feel special. You both got all dressed up to come see me, and it’s not even my birthday!”

“It’s coming up,” Steve mentioned.

And it was. St. Patrick’s Day.

“Want anything special?”

“That’s not something I’ve really planned out, sweetheart,” Sarah replied to Bucky, and her smile looked weary. She patted his cheek again and let her hand rest limply on the arm of the recliner as she settled back under her blankets.

“Warm enough, Ma?”

“Yes, sweetie. How was the party?”

“Loud,” Bucky said.

“Crowded. But the food was good,” Steve assured her.

“Wish I could’ve been there,” she told them. “Sure sounds like it was a hoot.”

Steve and Bucky linked hands where they sat, once again lacing their fingers together. “Me, too, Ma,” Steve agreed.

“Me, too, Ma. You’d love Sam.”

Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but then her expression shuttered. Her eyes squeezed themselves shut tightly and she gasped, clutching at her chest.

Steve’s face drained. “Ma?”

“Hurts. It… it hurts…”

“Call the office, Bucky! I’m going to call the doctor!”

Panic made Bucky’s heartbeat stutter as he got up and rushed to grab his cell from his coat pocket, while his mother-in-law fought for breath.


	16. I Still Want You to Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky realize it’s time to say goodbye, and that more than ever, it’s important to stay together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This is The Sad Chapter, Part One. It was inevitable. HOWEVER, this is also a turning point that will bring Good Things down the road for the conclusion of this story. 
> 
> I have to say, thank you, THANK YOU for sticking with it this long. Chatting with you all in the comments has been awesome. AWESOME. I appreciate any emotional or mental investment you’ve made in this story’s development and the journey these characters have taken in it. I want to say thank you again to debwalsh, who won this story as her auction prize and who has always given me amazing support.

The social worker left her card behind on the bedside table while Sarah was resting. Steve stared down at it bleakly, with hollow, bloodshot eyes. Bucky fiddled with the edge of Sarah’s blanket, smoothing it and retucking it around her bony shoulder to keep out the draft. 

They’d held the family meeting. Steve, Bucky, the social worker, the hospitalist, and Sarah’s regular oncologist, along with the nursing supervisor on the floor and the room nurse had met after Sarah had another round of labs and another CT scan. 

“I know you’ve had some time to grow accustomed to the progression of Sarah’s cancer,” the doctor told them. “And I know it hasn’t gotten any easier.”

“Kinda hasn’t,” Steve said sharply. Bucky winced and automatically reached for Steve’s hand, but Steve shook off his grip. “We know what comes next.” His voice was a hoarse croak.

“Sarah already filled out a POLST,” the doctor went on. He indicated the pink card. “She stated that she wished for pain management, even if it accelerated the end of her life. With no aggressive interventions to sustain her life.”

“Yes.” Steve’s hand balled itself into a fist atop the table in the meeting room. “I know you’re going to talk to Ma about this again, and that… that’s fine. She needs to know all of this.”

“She certainly does. We want her to be comfortable with her decision and to trust us to honor it.”

“Must be nice that you don’t have to be involved in the decisionmaking anymore, pretty soon.”

“Stevie.”

Steve waved Bucky off and flinched when his husband touched his arm. Bucky backed off, tight-lipped but resigned.

“We’re here for you, Mr. Rogers. This is an overwhelming time for you right now.”

Steve let out a shaky breath.

“Would you like spiritual support?”

“Like what? A priest?”

“Or a minister. Whichever Sarah would prefer, if it would help.”

“Ma’s a lapsed Catholic,” Steve told them in a huff of laughter. “Sure. Why not? She wouldn’t mind.”

They went over the tests. The CT came back showing new fractures and another, larger tumor in Sarah’s lung. The chest pain and shortness of breath Sarah had experienced more frequently now had a frightening explanation that Bucky wished they hadn’t been given.

They discussed Sarah’s pain management. Sarah was anemic and malnourished; she’d already refused a feeding tube after her last admission to the hospital. They mapped out the plan for her comfort care and the home care services they already used at her complex, reviewed the equipment she already had, and by the time they finished the meeting, Bucky and Steve felt exhausted and raw. 

Now, they were back in the hospital room. Neither of them wanted to watch TV and disturb Sarah’s rest with the noise. Bucky read a Kindle book while Steve worked on a book of Sudoku puzzles. Nat and Sharon had stopped by and brought them some decent coffee and visited with Sarah during one of her brief waking periods.

“Are they being good to you in here?” Nat asked her as she took Sarah’s cool hand, gently squeezing it.

“Well, they took exception to me jumping on the furniture,” Sarah rasped. “Other than that? Eh.”

Nat smiled at that, but Bucky recognized the heartbreak in her green eyes. “You’re a wild woman, Sarah.”

“Takes one to know one,” Sharon reminded her. Sarah winked at Sharon, nodding right before she coughed. It was a ragged, harsh sound. When she stopped, Steve gently wiped her mouth with a cool washcloth. “Do me a favor and keep an eye on these two knuckleheads,” Sarah told Natasha, motioning to Steve and Bucky.

“Someone’s got to,” Nat agreed. 

“I know I won’t find anyone better suited to the job.”

“Nope. Sure won’t.”

“It’s a full-time job,” Sharon said. “We keep ‘em in line.”

Sarah sighed, quietly mulling something. Then, “Did you two go to the wedding? You were in it?”

“The wedding?”

“Steve and Bucky’s. When they got married, didn’t you give them away?”

It dawned on Nat and Sharon what she was asking. “Yes. Sorry. I had a brain fart for a second, Sarah. Yes, we gave these two away. It was kind of ‘no frills.’”

“It was still sweet,” Sharon told her. 

“Sorry I missed it,” Sarah murmured.

“I am, too.” Natasha was struggling, but her smile was so calm. 

“I married my Joe in a pink dress. Stevie was already a bun in my oven, so there was no point in a white dress.”

“Bet you were a knockout.”

“You ain’t kiddin’. It was just our parents and Joe’s sister. She died back in eighty-three. And Joe’s best friend Nick.” She craned her neck to look up at Steve. “Remember Uncle Nick?”

“Sure do, Ma.”

“He stood up for Joe when we tied the knot. We married at the church. It wasn’t much, but we still had flowers. And our mothers lit the candles.”

“What kind of flowers?” Natasha asked.

“Daisies and daffodils. And baby’s breath. That’s what I had in my bouquet.”

“Must have been beautiful.”

“My best friend Berniece caught the bouquet at the dinner we had in my father’s backyard. A few of our friends fought over it, but Berniece played first baseman on our softball team. They weren’t gonna beat her for that bouquet.”

Steve stroked her head through the soft beanie. His expression was fond. Sarah smiled up at him, and Bucky suddenly wondered if they needed some time alone.

Natasha and Sharon had the same thought. They rose from the uncomfortable vinyl seats and gave them apologetic smiles. “We’d better skedaddle. You guys let us know if you need anything, okay?”

Sharon bent down and kissed Sarah’s cheek. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Come around any time,” Sarah agreed. Nat leaned down for her kiss, too. “Don’t get into too much trouble, Trouble.”

“You’re asking a lot.”

“Bye-bye, kiddo.”

Nat and Sharon headed out, and Bucky asked Steve, “Do you need me to pick you up anything from home?”

Steve looked uncertain for a moment. “You don’t have to leave. Unless you need anything specific?”

“No. Not for me. Y’know what? I’m going to get a 7-UP. It’ll just be a couple of minutes. Want one?”

Steve sighed, and Bucky watched it dawn on Steve that maybe Bucky needed to stretch his legs. “No. Maybe just a water.”

“That’s fine. I’ll bring you a water, baby.”

“While you’re down there, find me a hairdresser. I’m thinking about changing my look,” Sarah informed Bucky. 

“I’ll see if they do highlights,” Bucky promised on his way out. “Back in a flash.”

Bucky knew better than to stay away too long. It frustrated Steve, who was already so vigilant and unwilling to leave Sarah’s side for long periods, beyond simple hygiene and a change of clothes. They were on the third day of Sarah’s hospital stay, and they were already planning her discharge on comfort care. That had been a subject of discussion, too; Steve was emphatic that Sarah be allowed to live out her last days at home.

In the meantime, Sarah’s guests could come and go as they pleased with more freedom than if she were still actively receiving treatment. Bucky knew Winifred and George were planning to stop by later that evening, and they warned him that they were planning to bring the photo albums. Bucky knew Steve would get his own back for Bucky teasing him about his sequined dance recital outfit once he saw Bucky in his old soccer uniform and braces. Or his Boy Scout uniform. Or his wrestling singlet and head gear. 

Bucky went down to the cafeteria and bought the drinks, along with an overpriced bag of pretzels for him and Steve to share. The noise of the people around him helped to bring him out of his own head for a few minutes. He saw patients in gowns and pajama pants, padding along in slippers and getting treats. Some of the visitors were cranky children, and Bucky knew how they felt, too. The food smells were bland, as expected, and none of it tempted Bucky. The rest of the hospital smelled like disinfectant and the lemon odor handler that tried, and failed, to mask the more aggressive smells up in the nursing wings. They spent so much time here, now, and Bucky’s feet felt like they’d worn a groove in the familiar gray linoleum and textured tract carpeting.

He took his time heading back to the room, instead taking a couple of minutes to text Becca.

_How are you holding up, Bucky?_

_I’m not. I’m really not._

Becca sent him back some sad-faced emojis and little hearts. _When is she going home?_

She asked “when.” Not “is she.”

_More than likely tomorrow morning. Comfort care._

_Is it okay if I wait til she’s back home to visit? I want to bring Wren._

_That’s fine._ Bucky wondered if it might be hard for Wren to process Sarah’s condition, but Sarah might enjoy seeing her again. Anything that might give his mother-in-law a moment of brightness appealed to him. He hoped Steve wouldn’t mind, though, and he reminded himself to ask when they got back to the apartment.

_I still have your spare key. I’m going to feed Iago and let Wren play with her for a while._

_Bless you._

_Talk to you soon._

Bucky just rested for a moment in the hallway by the solarium, staring out the hallway window. The sky was gray, but there was a little sunlight peeking through the clouds, casting a hazy golden light over the sidewalks and dappling them with dim shadows. He felt unsettled and defeated, tired, and a little numb. He’d been marinating in Steve’s anxiety and matching it with his own, and he still didn’t have any answers regarding his feelings for his husband. Bucky didn’t know how to admit it to him, or even how to convince him of it, and right now, discussing it wasn’t something they could entertain. Not with what they had on the table.

There were things he knew Steve would need to discuss with Sarah without him, and that hurt, too, but that time was precious, and Bucky would protect Steve’s right to it. There were memories Bucky wouldn’t be privy to. Maybe some confessions. Things that were only truly meant for Steve’s ears, and he would want to hold close to his heart and tuck away, safe and sound.

*

 

“They asked if you wanted to talk to a priest.”

“Mmm.” Sarah looked thoughtful. “They got anyone else?”

“Why? Why not a priest?”

“Like, a minister.”

“Uh. Okay. I can ask?”

“Please do. That’s a good boy,” she murmured to him. She yawned then and burrowed more deeply into the covers. “You looked upset before. When we talked about the wedding.”

“I wasn’t upset.”

“No need to pull my leg, buddy boy.” She patted the bed, urging Steve to sit with her. Steve pulled the rail down and sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Sarah’s shoulder through the blanket. “There’s something I want you to do for me.”

“Name it.”

“Marry that sweet husband of yours again.”

Steve reeled for a moment. Confusion made his mouth work, but the sounds wouldn’t come out.

“You heard me,” she repeated. “I want to watch you two tie the knot.”

“Ma…”

“There are things a mother shouldn’t miss. I know you love him. I know he makes you happy, Stevie. I’ve seen how you are together. That man _loves you_.” She pronounced that with so much emphasis and gave Steve’s hip a little swat, since it was close enough for her to reach. Her words were underscored by the sibilant hiss of the oxygen flow, and her face looked wan, but her smile broke his heart, still beautiful and meant just for him. “I know it’s short notice, but I want to see my son get married.”

“You really want that?” 

His mind raced with what she was asking him and how to even pull it together. There was so little time. He could lose her in a day, in a week, or in a minute.

“I’ll behave myself and stay put,” she promised him, and Sarah reached out and took his hand. “Do you hear me? I’m not going anywhere until you tell him ‘I do’ again, and he does the same.”

“I… okay. I’ll see about a minister.”

“We can have it right in my living room. Invite Natasha and Sharon if you want.”  
.  
“Can I have Becca and Bucky’s folks, too?” Steve’s voice was thick.

“Oh, good grief, Stevie, yes. It wouldn’t be a party without ‘em.”

“Let me know if there’s anyone else.”

“I don’t even know if anyone else will fit,” she teased, but she nodded. “That’ll be fine, baby.”

“Okay.”

“Some flowers would be nice.”

“I’ll get flowers.”

“Celebrate each other, Stevie. Every day, but definitely on your wedding day.”

Steve nodded, and his eyes burned. He took off his classes and wiped them clean on the edge of his sweater cuff.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. It’s. It’s nothing. I’m just… it’s going to be interesting asking Bucky to marry me. He asked me, last time.”

He didn’t go into detail _how or why_. He didn’t want to open that box.

“Why wouldn’t he? He loves you.”

“Mm-hm.” Steve nodded, but the voices crying out in the back of his mind begged her, _Does he?_ and all of the old doubts rose up, clogging his chest.

“Stevie. I know he does.”

Steve nodded and tried to smile, but he bowed his head and shrugged his shoulders futilely.

“Does he tell you?”

“It’s… it’s complicated, Ma.”

“Oh, bullshit. Only if you complicate it. That man thinks the sun shines out of your ass, Steven Grant.”

Steve sputtered a laugh and wiped at his eyes.

“Oh, Steve. I don’t know what it is that you’re missing in this picture, but your husband is in love with you. Which is how it’s supposed to go when you marry a fella. I sure as heck loved your father. He hangs on your every word. He watches you enter and leave the room, every time. And he can’t keep his hands off you. But it’s just… the way he says your name. The way he looks at you. Tell him, Stevie.”

“I… I get it, Ma, I-“

“No. Stevie. Listen to me. I want you to tell him you love him. That’s the one thing I’ve never heard you do.”

“I don’t just sit around whispering sweet nothings in his ear when other people are around.”

“You practically _do_ ,” she argued. “But tell him you love him.”

Steve nodded, and his exhaled breath was wet.

“Baby, come here.” Sarah held open her arms, and she folded Steve into them when he bent down. “I get the feeling if you ask him, he’ll say yes.”

He suppressed a laugh, and she rubbed his back soothingly. “He’d better.”

“It’s not like he got you in trouble,” she joked. “I happen to know a little something about that.”

“I wasn’t planning on wearing a white dress, either.” Because Steve had his mother’s gift for being a little shit at times.

“Hey. Don’t hold back on my account. Wear whatever floats your boat.”

“I do love him, Ma.”

“I know that.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how to tell him.”

“Just let the words out. They’ll come.” Sarah continued to rub his back. “If you can say ‘I do,’ you can say ‘I love you.’ And you can say ‘I do’ again. I know you can do it.” Sarah kissed his cheek. “I’m rooting for you.”

“Ma…”

And he held her, just because he never wanted to let go of her or picture the future without her. 

“Don’t cry, sweetheart. Be happy. I know you’ll be happy with him. Okay? Make him happy.”

“There you go, bossin’ me around again.”

“One of the perks of the job, bucko. Don’t expect me to stop doing it _now_.”

Steve was just drying his face on one of the hospital’s flimsy Kleenex when Bucky came in with their drinks. “Hey. Just in time,” Steve told him matter-of-factly.”

“What… am I in time for?” Bucky sounded cautious but intrigued.

Steve joined Bucky on the other side of the bed and dropped dramatically to one knee. “Will you marry me, Buck?”

And from the bed, Sarah was grinning.

Bucky’s smile spread slowly across his face. “Uh. Sure, Stevie. Sounds like a plan.”

Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“Don’t forget the other part,” Sarah coached.

“What… other part?”

Steve stood up and took the drinks from Bucky’s hands, setting them aside. Then he took his hands and stared into Bucky’s eyes. “I want to marry you again. So Ma can be there this time. And our folks. And whoever else you want. Because that was what was missing the last time, and-“

And his voice broke. Bucky felt his throat close up and a tightness in his chest before he reached for Steve. “Yes. It’s a hard yes. Stevie, we’ll do whatever you want. I’ll marry you again. We’ll do whatever you want, okay? Anything. I’d marry you every time. Any time you ask me, the answer’s yes.”

And Steve was holding onto him tightly. Bucky closed his eyes and let himself accept the tangible comfort of Steve in his arms, warm and solid.

“It’s always gonna be you and me, Stevie.”

And the realization of what he was _really_ saying washed over Steve and made his heart twist. The words still wouldn’t push themselves out, even though Bucky provided the opening, but he felt a flare of hope.

“We need a minister.”

“Okay.”

“And flowers.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

And they missed Sarah’s slightly aggrieved sigh, because these two boneheads were still tapdancing around it. But.

Hey.

They’d figure it out. She’d forgive her son for his truly spectacular cop-out.

They coaxed Sarah into a sip of the soda, bundled her back up, and left her alone for a nap. They bundled themselves back up for their trek back into the elements; they were due for another snow, soon, but in the meantime, the wind chilled every bit of Bucky and Steve that it kissed.

“I’ll get the minister,” Bucky suggested. “I know a nice nondenominational one who did my friend Frank’s wedding for him and his husband.”

“I’ll take care of the flowers.”

“Nat and Sharon could.”

“No. I have Ma’s wedding photo. I want flowers like what she had in her bouquet.”

“You gonna carry one?”

“No, wise ass.”

“Just messin’ with ya, Rogers.”

Bucky took Steve’s hand, and this time, he didn’t brush him off. He laced their fingers together as they walked to the parking garage and climbed into Bucky’s Mustang. 

“I meant it,” Bucky told him as he started the car.

“Meant what?”

“I’d marry you again. Every time.”

“We’ve got a proven track record,” Steve joked. His smile was tired. 

Bucky paused in buckling his seatbelt to stare at him.

“What?”

“Just… nothing.” Steve watched Bucky in confusion as he finished buckling up.

“Buck-“

“What kind of cake do you want for it? It’s not a wedding without cake, Steve.”

“Yeah. Guess you’d know, huh?”

As the rest of the evening went by, between phone calls to their family, the church Bucky mentioned, and a few other stores around town, they kept their conversation noncommittal. It felt stilted, but Bucky didn’t want to disturb the uneasy peace between them if he could avoid it. Steve went back to his own room for a nap after dinner, and Bucky left him to it while he continued to make phone calls and to text Becca.

_He proposed to me._

_Was it romantic?_

_No. Not really. This just isn’t the time._

She sent him a frowning emoji, but Becca didn’t elaborate. Bucky didn’t know what to tell her.

There was no explanation that would work for this. This was unquantifiable and had no standard rationale. Bucky didn’t know why he still felt so afraid.

He still felt so numb. And so tired.

They were getting married again. That should have made him happy, somewhat. Somehow. And _Steve_ proposed this time.

Bucky knew how obligatory it had been, but Steve… he was so fragile and so worked up. He said the first things that came to mind. Steve wasn’t Bucky’s husband, he was his “hard yes.”

God, he’d sounded like a complete douche.

It just wasn’t the time. But for one shining moment, Bucky felt his soul sing and felt hot, ecstatic prickles break out over his skin when Steve dropped down on one knee. It was something Bucky never admitted he needed, but once Steve gave it to him… he was still processing it, but he craved it. He needed it so much, and he needed Steve to tell him he loved him, if he could truly love him.

Bucky texted Sam and asked him the important question.

_You know I’ll do it. I’m there._

Bucky’s sigh was watery as he texted him back. _This is the most that we can do for her, Sam. I just feel like it’s so little, so late._

Bucky could almost hear Sam’s groan in his reply. _You’re doing it for Steve, too. And I get the feeling he’s also doing it for you, even if both of you are dancing around it._ Sam paused a moment. _Tell him. Don’t keep letting this go, man._

_There’s never been a right time._

_Any time is the right time. I get the feeling he’s been sitting on this, too, waiting for a right time. Make it the time, Barnes._

Bucky couldn’t do this via text.

He grabbed his keys and locked the door after himself before he stepped out into the corridor and dialed Sam’s contact number. Bucky wandered to the end of the corridor, just outside the elevator. Sam picked up on the second ring.

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be, Barnes.”

“Sam, I’m just at a loss. I think he wants to stay with me, but it’s just… it’s complicated.”

“It’s not just about rent anymore, Bucky. C’mon. Look at what the two of you have made for yourselves since you moved in and actually tied the knot. Health insurance? Joint taxes? Matching sweaters?”

“I know. I know…”

“This isn’t just for Sarah. It’s for you and Steve, too. He needs this, and I think it’s time you admit that he needs _you_ , too. Don’t tapdance around this. Tell him how you feel. Right now, you two need each other more than ever to get through what’s coming. Not just for a photo op. Get ready to be there for him in a way you never thought you’d be for anyone else.”

“What if this is it?”

“What if it’s what?”

“What if after she’s gone, Steve’s gone, too?” And oh, the words hurt.

“I don’t see that. I don’t see him letting the two of you go out like that. He’s so gone on you, and I don’t think he’s going to let you pack up your stuff and your cat baby and tell him ‘So long, Jack.’”

“We’ve got a minister.”

“Monica just bought me a nice sweater.”

“Think you could do me another favor and bring some music? Just… something nice. Something you’d play for a mother of the groom dance. I just… I don’t know if Steve has even thought that far for it yet.”

“I’ve got a few nice songs on my playlist that I gave to my DJ already that you can pick from.” Because of course Sam did.

“You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome. At least y’all already have the rings.”

And that was another detail that Bucky was chewing on. “Yeah. One less thing to worry about, but they aren’t anything special, either.”

And that sparked another idea. “I’ll call you back to nail down a few more details, Wilson. I have to run an errand.”

“Later, Barnes.”

Bucky did a one-eighty and headed back into his apartment. He opened the door quietly and found his jacket and a soft knit beanie to cover his ears; the snow began after the sun went down, and Bucky didn’t want to spend too much time out in it before he would need to go with Steve to the hospital.

Bucky headed to the galleria and parked in the first level of the garage. There were already a few customers being helped when he reached the Crescent Jewelers, but most of them were prospective brides or men looking at engagement rings. Bucky waited patiently by the men’s wedding ring displays until a young man in a dark business suit and striped silk tie wandered up from behind the counter.

“is there anything I can help you with today, sir? Can I show you something special?”

“I need a wedding ring for my fiancé,” Bucky told him. “He’s technically already my husband, but we’re doing an encore for our families, since they didn’t see us get married the first time around.”

The clerk raised his brows, but he nodded and smiled. “Got married in a hurry, huh?”

“Yeah. And I really wanna do something about that, now.”

“What kind of stone do you think he would like?”

“If this was a promise ring, I’d go with his birthstone, but I want to do this right.”

“Then I think I have just the ring for you.” He pulled out a rack of rings from under the case. Modest diamonds winked up at him from various gold and platinum bands. “Were you wanting to get this engraved?”

“We’re pressed for time, so not quite yet.”

“Okay. Feel free to bring it back, if you make the purchase today, and we can inscribe a little something on it.” Then he asked Bucky, “Do you know his size?”

Bucky handed him the copy of the old receipt from the tungsten bands they bought for themselves when they went to the courthouse. The plain band stared up at Bucky from his finger, a constant reminder that they could have done something more meaningful straight out of the gate and given what they had, now, after so many months of really finding each other, the special day it deserved. 

Steve deserved more than that. And Bucky was going to give it to him.

“That one,” Bucky said, nodding to the band in the front of the tray.

“That’s beautiful. Want to try it on, just to get some idea of what it will look like on?”

Bucky took off his own tungsten band and tried on the one that the dealer found in Bucky’s size. Bucky’s eyes swam for a moment, looking at it. He touched the flawless, twinkling stone with his fingertip.

“Want to look at a few other choices?”

“No. This one. Definitely this one.”

“Great choice.”

The dealer walked Bucky through the payment terms and warranty, and Bucky walked out a few minutes later with a glossy gift bag dangling from his fist. He wondered to himself how he and Steve managed to do things so backward that so many months after they got married, he was finally going to give him a decent _proposal_.

But it was worth it. Steve was worth it. And Bucky wanted to give what they had the chance it deserved. 

Bucky tucked the ring box into his pocket when he got into the car; he hid the gift bag in the glove box before he went upstairs to Steve.

Steve was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and righting his tousled hair, still looking groggy from his nap. He eyed Bucky with curiosity. “Where were you?”

“Just out and about. Ready to head back to the hospital?”

“Almost.” 

Bucky leaned over and kissed him, enjoying the mintiness of his breath. “Did you get some rest?”

“It was like having a sip of water after you’ve gone three days without drinking any.”

“That sucks.”

“I’ll manage, Buck.”

“Okay.” Bucky kissed him again, lingering over it, and he felt Steve reach up to cup his nape, stroking his shorter hair.

“I’m still getting used to this. I don’t know why you did it, but it’s growing on me,” Steve admitted. “I sure married a good looking guy.” His tone and the look in his eyes was admiring. Awed.

“Uh-uh. No you didn’t. I did.”

“Oh, you did, huh?”

“Yup. My husband is way cuter than yours.”

Steve snickered, shaking his head.

“Go ahead and get your shoes. We can take your car.”

“If you want?”

“It just started snowing again. My heater is acting up.”

“That’s fine, Buck. Let me know if we need to work it into the budget to get it fixed.”

_Aside from the other little thing I worked into the budget,_ Bucky didn’t tell Steve.

Bucky kissed him again, because it was a luxury he would never get tired of, and Steve gave him another funny look.

“What’s with you tonight?”

“Nothing.”

“You look like you’re up to something.”

“Nope. Not lil’ ol’ me. Not _this_ guy. Get your shoes, Rogers. Sheesh…”

Bucky darted out of the bathroom before Steve could swat him.

*

 

They stayed over that night, woke up with cricks in their necks, and Steve and Bucky went through the usual circus of Sarah’s discharge. Paperwork. Equipment. Prescriptions. Retrieving her valuables from the vault. Sweeping the room for any belongings that they might have missed. Another meeting with her case worker and doctors. The CNA who wheeled Sarah to the front lobby while Steve went out to bring the car around was obliviously cheerful.

“Be careful out in this snow. It really came down last night.” Fresh, pristine white mounds of it settled over the hospital driveway’s landscaped lawns and outdoor seating, guaranteeing that anyone waiting for their ride would have to wait inside. “Get inside and bundle up!”

“Story of my life, kiddo,” Sarah admitted. When Steve drove up and they helped Sarah in with her O2 tank, she told the aide, “Don’t take no wooden nickels and don’t talk to strangers, kid.”

“Feel better!” she chirped as she pulled the wheelchair back onto the sidewalk, and she waved at them as they drove off. Bucky felt apprehension gather itself into a hard ball in his stomach. He felt like they’d been cast adrift, like they were entering the next phase.

Sarah’s apartment was clean, smelling strongly of disinfectant. Steve came inside first and turned up the heat, bringing it back up to the almost humid level that Sarah needed to stay comfortable. “Want some tea, Ma?”

“Only if you’re making some for yourself,” she told him, and Bucky knew Sarah would likely leave it untouched. But Steve needed something to do to busy himself. 

They got Sarah settled back within her mountain of blankets and ran her concentrator to fill her tank. They discussed the times for the wedding, and Bucky and Steve realized that this was happening. 

“Can you send Natasha over that morning? Maybe she can help spruce me up a little,” Sarah suggested.

“She’ll be tickled pink, Ma,” Bucky told her. “I’ll let her know.”

“Bucky already talked to Becca. You’re even gonna have a flower girl. Wren’s excited.”

That made Sarah smile and nod. “I never had one when I got married. That’s going to be so cute.”

“Sorry I couldn’t finagle a ringbearer,” Steve told her.

“Aw. Don’t worry about it. Just as well, anyway. Your auntie Gert had a ringbearer in hers. That kid threw a tantrum when they were coming down the aisle. His mom had to come out of the pews and carry him the rest of the way after he took the flower girl’s basket and dumped out all the petals. Half the time, the ringbearer and the flower girl are just entertainment for the adults.”

That made Bucky and Steve suppress grins. She wasn’t wrong.

They laid out the rest of the arrangements for her, while Sarah’s eyelids began to droop, but she kept nodding and joking with them and giving them anecdotes of Steve’s childhood. Steve went into the kitchen and heated up a can of soup for her, knowing she would only take a spoonful or two, while Sarah regaled him of the time she took Steve on his Boy Scouts camping trip, and that a long snake leapt out from above a tree across their path and slithered into the water.

“I screamed bloody murder. ‘OH, SHIT, DID YOU SEE THAT MOTHERFUCKING SNAKE???!!!’ Oh, Bucky, sweetheart… remember that Boy Scouts aren’t supposed to use that language. Their den mother _definitely_ isn’t supposed to use that language. It was all the boys would talk about by the campfire when we were making s’mores. Poor Stevie was mortified.”

And he was facepalming and snickering now at the memory, nodding in agreement. “You were still their favorite den mother.”

“They didn’t let me take you camping again.”

“Well, no. They didn’t.”

Sarah gave up after the fourth sip of soup and settled in for a nap. While she slept, Steve went into her room and peeked at her laundry hamper.

“I’m going to wash a load today so she has a few things to pick from tomorrow, and for the rest of the week.”

“Housekeeping doesn’t do it?”

“I like to make sure nothing gets lost.”

“Okay.”

Steve emptied the half-full hamper into the green laundry basket. He paused when picked up the last garment, a pink sweatshirt, and he raised it to his face, breathing in its familiar scent and closing his eyes. Bucky heard his low, shaky breath. “Need any help, baby?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Okay. That’s… that’s okay. You can come with me, if you want.”

They bundled back up and took the clothes to the laundromat around the corner. Steve managed to wash the whole load in one of the large capacity machines with unscented Tide. They sat on the uncomfortable chairs and shared Bucky’s Kindle, reading a short story one of Bucky’s friends sold as an e-book. They sat slumped close, knees knocked together and holding hands as the clothing spun, slowly tapping through each page of the story. 

“Ma asked me if there was anything of hers that you want,” Steve told him.

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.” Because he hadn’t wanted to.

“She has some nice cookbooks. There are even some handwritten recipes in there that you might like,” Steve suggested.

“Actually, that would be fine. If that’s okay with you.” He squeezed Steve’s hand. “I think we should keep those.”

“I don’t want to include them in the estate sale, if you want them.”

“We can keep them, then.”

We, Bucky wanted to tell him, not me.

“We’ve got a lot of space on the bookshelf for the photo albums,” Bucky added. Steve’s fingers clenched. “There’s time to figure that out. Whenever you wanna figure it out, Stevie.”

Steve handed him the Kindle and got up. “Gonna stretch my legs. Wanna soda?”

“No. I’m good.”

“Bookmark that til I come back.”

And Bucky wondered if he misspoke. If it was too soon to suggest how to disposition something of hers that they would not only keep, but share. Bucky wanted access to that part of Steve’s history just as much as he wanted to _be_ a part of his _future_. Steve disappeared, and Bucky wondered if he went back to the car for a while. 

When he came back, he let Buck finish the book alone, and the soda was mostly empty. But he still resumed holding Bucky’s hand.

His voice was hoarse and soft. “She doesn’t have that many cookbooks. Those should fit in the bookcase with the albums. Or, we can get a bigger one. I’ve been thinking, lately, that it’d be nice to have a bigger one.”

Bucky stroked his knuckles with his thumb. “That’d be really nice.”

“Maybe we should register for one.”

That pried a snicker out of Bucky, and then Steve joined him. An elderly woman folding her white load and rolling her socks into pairs gave them a quizzical look from across the way.

“I never did get the ironing board cover.”

“Stevie. C’mon. That thing was _tacky_.”

*

 

Once the laundry was put away, they just relaxed and stole naps on the couch until Sarah woke up and needed her next dose of medicine.

“Natasha’s coming over at eight to help you get fixed up,” Steve said.

“Is she gonna make me gorgeous?”

“No. Can’t mess with perfection.”

“You sweet talker, you.” She smiled up at him. “So much like your father.”

“I always thought I was more like you.”

“Well, you’re a smartass. I guess that does make you my son. Still… you’re good. He was good, too. Just… he was a loving man, Steven. A really loving man. He talked to me last night.”

Steve’s insides lurched. “Yeah?”

“Told me to behave myself.” Sarah chuckled. “Said to quit giving you such a hard time. I told him I was just yanking your chain.”

“Someone’s gotta do it, I guess.”

But the words felt hollow.

Bucky squeezed his shoulder for a moment before he got up to take out the trash.

 

*

“My shoes pinch, Mom.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I promise you get to wear your sneakers after this, okay. You look so pretty, sweetheart.” Wren hopped up onto the couch and sat, impatiently swinging her legs, until Becca told her to stop. Wren wore the green velvet dress that Becca put her in for her Christmas portraits. Becca had braided and pinned up her hair and dressed it with little silk flowers. The offending shoes, a black pair of Mary Janes with rhinestone buckles, looked much better than they felt. Becca even let her have a light blot of rouge on her cheeks for the occasion.

Iago hid under the couch, despite Wren’s best efforts to prize her out. 

Sarah’s modest living room was decorated with the fresh flowers that Steve ordered, along with a spring tablecloth and yellow and blue plates and flatware. Didn’t fit the season at all, but Sarah told them that she wished they could have had a spring wedding. This would have to do.

Natasha came through. After checking with Steve about Sarah’s size, she picked up a soft knit dress in a shade of blush pink, despite Sarah’s exclamations that she could have just worn something she already had in her closet. She paired it with Sarah’s favorite cardigan sweater and a warm beret in a brighter shade of pink. Natasha had taken care with her makeup, applying just enough to make her feel festive and beautiful. The two of them mugged for Sharon’s phone as she snapped pictures. Sam and Monica hooked up his laptop and soon the music filled the room. “A Sunday Kind of Love” by Etta James set a hopeful mood, and Sharon and Natasha held hands where they sat on the love seat together, pleased with their handiwork. 

In the kitchen Bucky fussed with one of the sandwich trays, putting the finishing touches on them with toothpicks and olives.

“Bucky, it’s fine. It’s time.” Steve’s voice was exasperated but full of anticipation.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m comin,’ punk.” Bucky looked up and nervously touched his necktie. “How do I look?”

“Like my husband. You’d look even more like my husband if you’d come stand with me in front of the minister, so can ya hurry it up a little? Sometime today?” But Steve leaned in and gave Bucky a brief peck. “You look pretty hot, though, since you asked. Got cold feet?”

“No… no, Stevie.” 

“Sure?”

“I’m definitely sure.” The small box rested against Bucky’s thigh, feeling like it was burning a hole in his pocket. Bucky peeked around the corner of the doorway and saw his mom and dad both gently swaying with the music beside Sarah’s recliner. They looked like they were reminiscing, and they both had soft smiles on their faces. It was a glimpse of Bucky wanted for himself, if Steve would reach out with him and grab it.

The minister ducked his head inside. Reverend Wagner was slightly built and wiry, with curly hair and friendly, dark blue eyes. He wore his sash over a plain black suit, and he held his Bible tucked against his chest. “Are we ready?” His English was lightly accented in German. “You look ready.”

“We’re ready,” Steve confirmed as he took Bucky’s hand, squeezing it. Bucky automatically began to sweat.

“Ready, Freddie,” Bucky agreed.

Reverend Wagner walked out of the kitchen and signaled to Sam, who immediately changed the music to “Pachelbel Canon.” Bucky let go of Steve’s hand in favor of linking arms with him instead. Steve huffed a silent laugh, but his smile was reassuring and familiar as they took their second walk down the aisle – the Pergo floor, and not much of it, in Sarah’s tiny apartment – in front of their family and friends. Bucky felt his face heat up, suddenly self-conscious and full of butterflies. He thought this would make him feel less put on the spot in a smaller setting, but this was small and intimate. He wondered if everyone in the room could hear him breathe.

Steve was focused on Sarah, and Bucky’s eyes drifted toward her, too, in her recliner, wan and beautiful in pink and smiling at them both with so much pride. The walk across the room felt longer than it was.

“Now,” Becca whispered to Wren, who remembered her job. She reached into her basket and tossed several handfuls of flower petals at Steve and Bucky’s feet, much to both grooms’ amusement. Sam and Monica filmed it with Sam’s phone, with visions of trying for a baby of their own in their heads. 

They reached Reverend Wagner, who handed them each a white candle, which they used to light the one on the small podium he brought with him. Steve’s hand shook a little as they both lit the wick from joined flames before blowing them out. Becca reached out and took the candles from them.

“Good afternoon,” Reverend Wagner told them. “Thank you for coming. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses, friends and family, to join Steven Grant and James Buchanan in lawful matrimony…”

As the preacher continued to speak, Bucky felt a knot inside him begin to loosen and felt some of the tension bleed out of his neck and shoulders. He absently stroked Steve’s hand with his thumb as he listened to the words, elegant and flowing. Steve watched Bucky, eyes glued to his face, eyes already sparking a little. Bucky smiled and lifted Steve’s hand to his lips, mouthing “It’s okay,” and he didn’t care that Sam was filming it, or that Wren was back to swinging her legs and lightly kicking the ottoman, or that Iago had abandoned her hiding place and was winding around Steve’s legs, flicking her tail against his khakis and purring like a motor. Steve was there, and they were doing this. They were sharing this with their families and creating a memory, a proper memory instead of just “putting it on paper” and treating it like an afternoon chore, one in a string of burdens on the way to getting a decent place to live. 

“Who gives away this groom, Steven Grant?”

“I do. I ain’t fighting it,” Sarah announced, to a sea of chuckles. “He’s all yours, kid. Take my son with my blessing.”

“Thank you,” Bucky told her, wondering why his voice sounded a little hoarse. Sarah threw him a kiss, and he caught it. His eyes were burning when he turned his gaze back to Steve’s face. 

“And who gives away this groom, James Buchanan?”

“We do,” George told him.

“And me,” Becca chimed in.

“And me!” Wren piped up, raising her hand. Steve bit his lip and Bucky’s nose scrunched up with the effort of trying not to laugh outright. 

“Good job, Wren!” Becca told her. “Okay, that’s enough…”

“All right, then! They’ve given you their permission. You may get married today!” the reverend told them cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “I have with me a very nice poem from e.e. cummings, which is well suited for today’s gathering, and I would like to share it with you, now, before we continue with the prayers and blessings.

‘i carry your heart with me(i carry it in  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)…’

Reverend Wagner’s voice was lilting and rich, and he treated the poem with respect, and Bucky’s throat felt thick with emotion. Bucky watched Steve’s jaw work and felt his grip on Bucky tighten. 

Steve glanced past Bucky for a moment, and Sarah looked pleased, and moved. She nodded at him and patted her chest, right over her heart. That was for him. That was just for him, and he nodded back.

_I love him. I really do. I want this with him so much._ Everything he didn’t say aloud lived in that look between them. 

The minister talked about marriage’s meaning, giving them anecdotes, talking about patience and perseverance, and commitment, and how love endures when you work at it. Iago wasn’t amused, and she wandered over to the couch and hopped up onto Becca’s lap for the duration. 

“Now it’s time to recite the vows. Steven, you may say yours first.”

"I, Steven Grant, take you, James Buchanan, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.” And Reverend Wagner knew that this was the time to pause in the ceremony for the off-script vows that this couple had in mind. Steve cleared his throat and spoke to Bucky, feeling the weight of every eye in the room, but focusing his attention on his groom, already his husband, wanting to write this new chapter with his words. This was their fresh page, waiting for the two of them to turn it. 

“Bucky.” Steve licked his lips and felt the words clogging his chest, as they had been for weeks, after taking so long to process what he’d been feeling for Bucky and to realize what it truly was. “I think the first time I fell in love with you was when you bawled me out for taking your parking space.”

Behind them, Nat silently clapped her hand over her mouth, and her eyes grew wide. Sharon merely nodded, and a slow smile spread across her lips.

“It’s hard to find decent parking in New York,” Monica agreed on a whisper.

“You ain’t lyin’,” Sam confirmed, and he watched his best friend’s “husband of convenience” reveal what the rest of them already knew, feeling warmth bloom in his core. He was happy for Bucky, if this was what he wanted. 

Bucky huffed an incredulous laugh. “What?!” 

Steve nodded, grinning. “I did. I know you were pissed at me, but I had a crush on you.” Bucky shook his head, but Steve nodded. “Right off the bat. There was just something about you. I loved coming into your shop. You were so proud of it, and you worked so hard to make it what it is, and everybody who comes in for your cranberry muffins also comes in there for you. And after a while, I just enjoyed talking to you. And the sound of your voice. I just always knew I’d walk out of that bakery feeling better than I had when I went in, because I’d see you.” Steve’s voice sounded so fond, that for one brief, mad moment, Bucky wondered if it was really _him_ Steve could be describing. Because _that_ that guy to _Steve_. That Steve could possibly love him that much, if this was true. If the vows weren’t just words.

Bucky’s mind drifted back to that night when they announced their wedding, when they’d never even told their families they were engaged. Steve had told their parents back then that he fell for Bucky the first time that he’d bawled him out about taking his parking space, too.

…had he?

“Steve…” Bucky’s voice was stunned. He was smiling, but his lips quivered, and he reached up to swipe at his eyes.

“Now it’s your turn, James.”

"I, James Buchanan, take you, Steven Grant, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.” Bucky’s voice was steady as he pronounced the words. “Stevie. I fell for you the moment you spoke up for me. You said you wouldn’t let the opportunity to be with me walk away. I was used to being walked away from, and you don’t know how much that meant. You don’t know how good you made me feel, and you’ve never stopped making me feel that way. I love the face you make when you’re working on the bills and figuring out the checkbook. I love how Iago loves you best, even though she was my cat first. I love how you made me want to be a better baker when you were always bitching at me about my ingredients, because the truth is, Stevie, I’m always better than I think I can be whenever I’m with you. I want to live the rest of my life with you, because I don’t know how I ever did it before I met you. I want us to take more dance lessons so you can dip me again.” Steve’s laughter was choked, and he nodded, lifting Bucky’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

“Me, too!”

“We started making the apple galette every day because of you, pal. You can’t leave me now.”

Steve shook his head. “I know! I can’t! It’s really, really good!”

Bucky heard a low sniffle from Natasha, and he knew without looking at her or Sharon that they were getting as emotional as he was.

“I’m in if you’re in, Stevie.”

Steve nodded again. “You know I’m in.”

“Very nicely put,” Reverend Wagner told them. “You don’t hear vows that eloquent and heartfelt every day,” he told the rest of the party. More chuckles erupted around the room.

“Is it almost time for cake?” Wren asked, not quietly.

That invited more chuckling. Becca murmured “Soon. Let’s let them finish.”

“I want cake, too,” Reverend Wagner confessed. “And I believe that your uncles promised me that their flower girl would sing us a song for the wedding, as your gift to them?” Reverend Wagner smiled at Becca, who nodded and grinned. Wren lit up.

“Oh, yeah.” Wren stood up and stood beside Bucky, who automatically hugged her and kissed her cheek. She hung onto his hand and swung it back and forth. “I have a song for you, and I’m gonna sing it now. I’m singing it for Uncle Steve, too.”

Steve’s hand drifted to his chest, and he nodded, smiling. “Hit it, kiddo.” He heard his mom’s brief “Awww” in the background as Wren began to sing.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,  
You make me happy  
When skies are gray  
You’ll never know, dear,  
How much I love you  
So please don’t take  
My sunshine away.”

She same the same verse a second time and drew out the last line on a slightly louder, pitchy note. By the end of it, Bucky and Steve’s eyes were burning, but they laughed and clapped, giving her more kisses and hugs.

“That was the best wedding present ever,” Steve assured her. “Thank you, Wrennie.”

“You’re welcome,” she told him simply before dashing back to Becca and leaping onto her lap.

“Lovely. Well done,” Reverend Wagner told her, beaming. “Now, we will exchange the rings. Steven, you first. Repeat after me: "I, Steven Grant, give you, James Buchanan this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to you."

"I, Steven Grant, give you, James Buchanan this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to you." Steve reached into his pocket, and Bucky expected him to hand him his usual tungsten band, but in his fist, Steve held out a small gray, velvet box.

“What…?”

“Wanna open it?”

“Steve…!”

“It won’t bite you,” Steve promised, and his smile was mischievous. Delighted. Like he’d finally put one over on his husband and managed to surprise him. Bucky reached for it and opened it, and a beautiful white gold band set with a row of shallowly set diamonds winked back up at him.

Bucky’s hand shook when he took the box from Steve, as Steve took out the ring. Bucky handed the box to Becca and let his husband take his hand. 

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Steve slid it neatly onto his finger. It fit. Bucky couldn’t stop staring down at their joined hands.

“James?” the reverend asked. “Do you have the ring?”

“It’s gorgeous,” he murmured.

“I mean, the one for Steve?”

“Oh, God… yes. Yes, I have it.”

Sam bit back a laugh from the back of the room and gave Bucky a thumbs-up when he caught his eye.

Bucky reached into his pocket and produced the box, and he smiled up at Steve. “Wanna do the honors, Stevie?”

Steve’s smile was wobbly and wet. “Bucky…!”

Bucky opened this one and presented him with the new ring, taking Steve’s hand after he handed Becca the second box. "I, James Buchanan, give you, Steven Grant, this ring as an eternal symbol of my love and commitment to you." He slid it onto Steve’s finger, and Steve’s answering grip on him was so tight.

“Wow,” he muttered. “Just… _wow_.”

“Attaboy, Bucky,” Sarah told them. “Now that’s _shiny_.” Everyone in the room snickered at that.

Reverend Wagner gave them the closing prayer, and then he raised his arms out wide, closing the benediction with "By the power vested in me by the State of New York, I now pronounce you married. Again.” He clapped each of them on the shoulder and told them, “Now, you may kiss your husband.”

“Finally,” Bucky muttered as Steve pulled him close, kissing him while they were both still smiling.

“I’m pleased to present to you the newly married couple, James and Steven! Wish them well! Go forth in joy.”

Sam turned on the outgoing processional music. George and Winifred hugged them first. Bucky was sniffling, and Steve’s eyes were bright red, and his nose was pink, but neither of them could suppress the sense of hope that lit them up inside.

“Quit hogging them, it’s my turn,” Sarah nagged as Winifred released Steve, who laughed as she passed him off. Steve bent down and enveloped his mother in a long, tender hug. Her thin hands rubbed his back in circles, and only then did he finally let the tears fall. “I’m so happy for you,” she told him. “Okay? I’m so proud of you, Stevie. I know he’s going to be good to you. Take good care of that man of yours, d’you hear me?”

“I hear you, Ma. I won’t let you down.”

“You never could. I’m so proud of my baby,” she told him again. “You deserve this. You’ve got such a big heart, Steve. Always keep him in it, deep in the middle of it. You can’t go wrong.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kissed her cheek and let her go reluctantly, stepping aside to let Bucky give her a hug, and Bucky wasn’t in any better shape. His cheeks were wet.

“I’ll take care of him, too,” he told her as he held her close.

“You’d better, buddy boy. Or we’re gonna have some serious words.”

“I’ll make him happy, Ma. Okay? I promise. I love that son of yours.”

“I know you do. I know you love my baby boy. Make it last. Make the most of it, okay?”

Sarah kissed his cheeks, wiping them dry. 

“You two behave yourselves,” she warned.

“Oh, yeah? Well, look who’s talkin’,” Steve shot back. “ _You_ behave yourself, Ma!”

“Me? Never!”

“You’re my role model,” Natasha told Sarah. More kisses and hugs went around the room. Iago finally retreated to Sarah’s lap for some peace to get away from all of the feet on the floor. Sarah turned the cat into a little purring machine with generous ear rubs.

“I’m the worst one you could have, kiddo. Have fun. Life’s short.”

“No. You really are her role model. I know what I’m getting into with this one,” Sharon told her, giving Nat an affectionate pat.

“Hey!” Natasha looked wounded, pouting.

“What? It’s true. I know what I’m getting into, and I _can’t wait._ ” Sharon’s brown eyes were warm.

“Awwww.”

“Awwww.” Sarah echoed Nat’s sentiment. 

Sarah looked up as Reverend Wagner went to get his coat. “Hey, buddy,” Sarah beckoned. “C’mere a sec, if you have a minute.” She fanned Steve and Bucky away, telling them “Go get started on the food. I need to talk to him for a minute.”

“Guess we’re being dismissed,” Bucky said.

“Talk about getting the bum’s rush,” Steve agreed. “There goes Ma, bein’ bossy again.”

“She’s happy,” Bucky reasoned. “Your ma’s happiest when she’s being bossy, pal. Where do you think _you_ get it from?”

“HEY!”

Reverend Wagner sat on the couch, coat draped over his lap and leaning in to listen to Sarah. Their exchange was low-pitched and soft, and his expression was intent and calm as he listened, nodding every so often at her words.

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “You just had to do it, man. You beat me to the altar not just once, but _twice_.”

“Might not have happened if someone had gotten their act together sooner,” Monica reminded him.

“HEY!”

“M’just sayin’.”

“See what you’ve done, Bucky?” Sam accused.

“What? I liked it, and I put a ring on it.”

“Speaking of which,” Steve began.

Bucky smiled at him, leaning into his brief kiss. “Looks good on you, Rogers.”

“Likewise.”

Steve looked like he wanted to ask him something else, but instead, he just held Bucky’s hand and kissed him again. 

Natasha and Sharon packed up a plate for Reverend Wagner to take with him on his way out, and the luncheon was in full swing. Sam turned on his playlist and let it play softly in the background, not loudly enough to disturb Sarah’s neighbors. Becca told Wren no fewer than three times to quit poking at the cake. Iago continued to recline on Sarah’s lap, knowing it was the safest place in the room, nestled atop Sarah’s pile of blankets.

As the afternoon progressed, a few more guests arrived. Steve’s coworker, Logan, showed up with his wife Jean, and Charles and Eric showed up, bundled heavily and bearing a gift.

“Charles has been telling me about your current situation. Hospital bills can be burdensome,” Erik mentioned as he handed them a heavy, cream-colored envelope. “Please take this with our blessing.”

Steve looked flustered and humbled. “You didn’t have to do that. That’s… that’s really kind.”

“You’re just starting out together,” Charles told them. “Take this, along with our blessings. Steve shook his hand firmly. “I hope you’ll be as happy as we have over the years.”

“Happy? We’re stuck with each other by now,” Erik teased, but his eyes twinkled as he squeezed his husband’s shoulder.

And there it was. 

Erik and Charles.

Bucky and Steve. If they could just let it happen and help it to grow. The future was staring them in the face and had just handed them a heavy envelope. Bucky felt his eyes opening, and the potential for happiness – true happiness, all the way down the road – with Steve felt possible. Probable.

Undeniable.

And if Bucky was reading the look on Steve’s face right, his eyes just opened, too.

Wren sat with Sarah, just on the edge of the couch and back to swinging her legs back and forth. She was munching on one of Bucky’s Mexican wedding cake cookies, and her lips were covered with powdered sugar. “Are you tired?” Wren asked.

“A little bit, sweetheart.”

“Maybe you can have some cake before you take a nap,” Wren suggested. “Mommy tells me sometimes that I have to take a nap before I get to have sweets.”

That made Sarah chuckle and nod. 

“My uncle Bucky made the cake,” Wren bragged.

“I know he did, sweetheart. He’s a very, very good baker.” Sarah grimaced for a moment and exhaled a shuddery breath.

“What’s wrong?” Wren asked, wrinkling her little brow in concern.

“Nothing, sweetie. It’s just almost naptime.”

Wren hopped down off the couch and wiped her powdery hands off on her dress, a fact that would annoy her mother when she noticed later that night. She walked up to Sarah and touched her hand, leaning in close. “Do I need to be quiet?” Wren whispered loudly.

Sarah bit back a laugh. “You’re being so good, kiddo. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a moment with Iago.” The cat was already squinting, her furry chest expanding in deep, even puffs as she flicked the tip of her tail up and down, a sign that she was settling in for the duration.

“Do you want me to take her?”

“No, sweetie. She’s fine where she is, all right? Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” Wren still sounded concerned. Becca swept by and collected her.

“No more cookies yet, baby. Let’s get one of Uncle Bucky’s sandwiches.” Becca asked Sarah, “Are you warm enough?”

“Mm-hm. M’fine.”

“All right.”

“Is the music going to be too loud?” Sam asked Steve. “Why don’t I turn it down, or maybe I can turn it off?”

“Just down,” Steve suggested. Sam tapped down the volume a couple of notches, earning himself Steve’s smiling nod.

“Getting married won’t get you out of groomsman duty, y’know,” Sharon told Bucky. “You guys are still gonna be in our wedding.”

“Oh, God, in monkey suits,” Steve muttered.

“Hey! We showed up for your first wedding, buddy! We’re gonna make you take the cheesiest pictures with us, too. I’ve been saving poses to my Pinterest all month.”

“Please don’t tag me in them on Facebook,” Bucky pleaded.

“Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the fun in not doing that? Seriously? I’m putting them on a billboard in the middle of downtown, James.”

The conversations around the room were subdued but light. Steve found out that Jean’s sister Gayle worked in the oncology wing of the hospital. “Small world,” he mused.

“Once you work for a hospital, you know everybody everywhere,” Jean told him. 

“She works weird hours,” Logan chimed in. “Every shift, during the course of the week. She rotates a lot, so she really does know the whole staff.”

“Ma used to do that,” Steve told them. “We ate a lot of TV dinners and canned ravioli. But she was a great nurse.”

“So. You’re not throwing a bouquet?” Becca asked Bucky.

“Nope. You disappointed?”

“I left my catcher’s mitt in the car,” Becca told him as she mock-pouted.

“Awwww.” Bucky wiped away mock tears. 

“Jerk.”

“Big baby.” Becca stuck out her tongue at him. “Probably just as well, I guess. I could jinx myself.”

“Who knows? Maybe you can catch Nat or Sharon’s bouquet.”

“Oh, right! Two bouquets!” Becca rubbed her hands gleefully. “Still got a chance.”

 

Steve checked on Sarah in about a half hour. “Ma?” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “Ma?”

“Whuh…? Oh. Hey, baby. Did you cut the cake?”

“Not yet. But Sam was going to give a speech. I thought maybe you’d wanna be awake for it and join the toast.”

“What are we toasting with?”

“Apple cider.”

“Works for me. I’ll get in on that action.”

“I’ll get you a glass.”

Bucky and Steve got up and poured a round of Martinelli’s sparkling cider in small plastic wine glasses while Sam turned off the music. All of them moved into the living room so that Sarah could hear the speech from her perch on the recliner. Steve and Bucky leaned in toward each other while Steve rubbed Bucky’s neck. The day’s events and fatigue were setting in, and both of them needed time to process things and have a little quiet time. 

“I’d like to propose a toast, to Bucky and Steve. To my best friend, although I might have lost my spot as his best friend, now that he’s married _this guy_.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, pal,” Steve said.

“Yeah, yeah, buddy. Keep lookin’ all smug.” Sam kept his glass raised, and his smile was contemplative. “I’ve known Bucky since grade school. Brothers from different mothers. I could tell you stories about Bucky that I can’t tell you while his parents are standing here.”

“Thanks for sparing us, Samuel,” Winifred told him.

“You are _very_ welcome. But where I’m going with this is, I know James Buchanan Barnes. He’s a good man, a great friend, and I know he’ll make an excellent husband. This man’s helped me through a lot and believed in me whenever I doubted myself. Bucky gave me that last kick in the butt when I was worried about moving to Seoul. But it was the best decision that Monica and I ever made.” Then Sam grinned and told everyone, “And he paid me back for abandoning him by marrying his next roommate!”

Steve facepalmed while Bucky snickered. Both of them flushed bright red. “Roommates, huh?” Sarah teased. She swirled the cider in her glass and smirked up at them.

“Ma,” Steve muttered.

“What? He said it. And I know what ‘roommates’ means, buddy boy. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“I wish you two happiness and a long life of being in love and going on new adventures. I know my best friend found that perfect person to go on those adventures with. Send us a postcard. To Steve and Bucky.”

“To Steve and Bucky,” all of them repeated before tipping back their glasses. Sarah raised her glass to her sons and took a fleeting sip before handing it to Steve. He succeeded in not looking dismayed and set the glass on top of a magazine resting on the coffee table.

“Baby?”

“Yeah, Ma?”

“Help me up. And give me a little more cord.”

“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Steve murmured.

“No. Not that. Sam?” Sarah called out.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Play us a song for the groom’s dance.”

Sam’s face softened. “Any preference?”

“Just something sweet.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” He flicked through his playlist while Sarah lowered the footrest on her recliner. Steve looked concerned.

“Ma… what…?”

“I want a dance with my son. I missed out before. You’re going to take your mother for a spin around the floor, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes sparked, but he nodded and said “Okay!” in an incredulous tone. Bucky checked the lead on her O2 tank and made sure it wasn’t tangled around any of the furniture, pulling it slack enough for her to get up without tripping over it. Steve and Bucky helped Sarah stand, which she did gingerly, wincing slightly and holding tightly onto Steve’s shoulders for support, but once she was up, she gave him a bright smile.

“Are you okay? Ma, if it’s too much-“

“It’s not. Not for my boys.” She called to Sam again, “Hit it, Sam.”

He nodded and pushed “Play.” The opening strains of “Ribbon in the Sky filled the room, and Sarah smiled up at Steve, leaning her head against his chest. Steve gathered her close, and they did a slow turn to the music. The room was quiet as their guest lost themselves in the moment and in their thoughts. 

Some memories felt indelible as they were happening. This was one of them. Sarah’s weight was slight and precious to Steve. The scent of her hair and light perfume filled his lungs. He lent her his strength and his balance, returning those same gifts that she’d always provided him, when he was a sickly child, and later, as her caregiver. He clung to her, memorizing how she felt, breath hitching a little because it felt like the air around him was evaporating. He was aware of too much, of how much he would lose when she was gone. 

“I told you I’d dance at your wedding.”

“You told me.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have doubted me.”

“I never doubted you, Ma. Ever.”

“Good. Mother of the groom. I get to do what I want.” Her voice was hoarse but sassy.”

Bucky felt like someone had carved out his insides. Watching them was beautiful and precious and poignant, but it felt too final. Time had slowed to a crawl during those moments, and he knew if Steve didn’t hold onto them – if he wasn’t there for him for what time Sarah had left – it would speed by too fast. He was aware of the difference in their statures, in her compromised balance and grace, of how much of a strain this was, but she was smiling, looking so content as Steve held her, while she slowly rubbed his back. 

“You love keepin’ me on my toes,” Steve murmured.

“Someone has to.”

Oh, how it hurt.

Because Bucky knew that she was passing the torch to him, now. 

By the middle of the song, Sarah asked Steve, “Wanna let your fella cut in?”

“Sure.” Bucky joined them quickly and gently drew Sarah in before she could lose any of Steve’s support. 

“Hey, good lookin’.”

“Hey, sonny boy.”

“I’ve been practicing with Stevie. I told you our landlady taught us how to dance?”

“My cha-cha’s a little rusty.”

“That’s okay. So’s mine.”

“The lindy hop’s out of the question, too.”

“Then this is fine. This is just fine.”

Bucky’s voice was even, but his throat felt hot and thick. His eyes were stinging again, and Steve looked anxious. After another bar or two, he told her “I think that fella wants to cut back in.”

“Hm. I must have put him on my dance card twice. I’d better cut him some slack.”

“Thanks for the dance, Ma.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.” And Bucky carefully eased her back into Steve’s arms and backed away. The song gradually ended, and Steve guided Sarah back toward her chair, but she told him “Hey. I hate to be a spoilsport, but I think I need my bed.” She didn’t notice that there were a few wet sets of eyes around the room before she made this announcement.

“I took pictures,” Nat whispered to Bucky. “Sharon recorded it.”

“Send it to me.” Nat nodded and gave him a side hug.

Steve and Bucky helped Sarah back to her room and brought her tank. Becca rounded up Wren and told her parents, “I think that’s our cue. I’m going to drop Wrennie at Mark’s. Which will be even more fun now that she’s all hopped up on sugar.”

“Nice,” Monica murmured. She hugged her and gave Wren a quick cuddle, patting her hair fondly. “It was so good to see you again, Becca.”

“You too. Thanks for coming. Sam, thanks for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He hugged her firmly, and she could feel the weight of the day in his muscles and hear what he was feeling, seeing it in his eyes. It was overwhelming.

“Let’s take a little cake for the road,” Charles suggested. 

“Before I forget, here’s your invitation,” Natasha said, digging a small, vanilla envelope out of her pocket and pressing it into his hand. “Save the date. We really hope to see you.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!”

“We’re going to get going before the worst of the traffic, and before this old man starts lollygagging and wagging his tongue,” Erik warned. He and Charles exchanged a look. Bucky never knew two men who had stronger eyebrow game than these two, catching it as he came back out front.

“Do you need anything? Want any help cleaning up?” Sharon asked.

“If you just want to take the trays back to the shop, that’ll be fine. Pack up whatever you want for yourselves. Stevie and I will take care of the rest.”

George and Winifred hugged and kissed Bucky goodbye. “That was lovely. Thanks for sharing it with us, baby.”

“We thought a do-over was in order. I wanted this for Stevie.”

“Well, he wanted it for _you_ , too. You can tell. That man loves you, sweetheart.”

It was like someone plucked his strings every time they told Bucky that. 

Jean and Logan waited patiently for Steve to come back out. “Wanna give the big guy a proper goodbye before we go,” he explained to Bucky. “He’s the best friend I have at work. I don’t go to a lot of weddings, but I couldn’t miss this one.”

“He _really_ doesn’t go to a lot of weddings,” Jean agreed. She sounded exasperated but fond, and she squeezed his hand. “Make it a niece or nephew’s dance recital, graduation or birthday party, and he’s there. Especially if there’s beer. Weddings? Not so much.”

“It meant a lot to Stevie that you came.”

“It’s funny. He used to talk about you and your cranberry muffins all the time, even before you moved in together. He’s the food police at work at potlucks. Wants to know if stuff’s organic or dairy-free, or gluten-free. But he swore by your baked goods. Had to be love.”

Bucky rubbed his nape and huffed a laugh. “See? I told him that a while back. He just wanted to get his hands on my goodies.”

Logan barked a laugh and Jean snickered, nodding. “Don’t they all,” she agreed.

Steve came out in another couple of minutes. “I changed Ma into her PJs. She’s all tucked in. Logan, Jean, thanks again.” He hugged them both and said “I should be back in the office in a couple of days.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It… it should be fine.”

“Talk to HR, if it’s not.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, Rogers. See you soon.”

“Bye, Logan.”

In a last flurry of hugs all around, Steve and Bucky found themselves in an empty living room. Bucky took Steve’s hand. “Hey.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“How you doing?”

“Married. Again.”

“Yeah? Me, too. And funny thing, I got a new piece of bling. Check it out!” He held up his hand and showed off the ring Steve gave him. “I think I found myself a sugar daddy.”

“I thought _you_ were the sugar daddy in this marriage.”

“Oh, you did, huh?”

“No?”

“Nope. Haven’t hit the big time yet, Stevie.”

“Good think you’re hot, then.”

Bucky’s lips twisted. “Yeah, good thing.”

They kissed, lingering over it for a minute and just breathing each other in. When they parted, Bucky suggested, “Let’s go ahead and clean up. Are we staying over tonight?”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Go home and rest.”

Before Bucky could argue, he heard Sarah call out to them both, “Boys. C’mere a sec.”

“We’re being summoned.” Steve led the way back, and Sarah was still reclined in bed with the head elevated. She looked wan and tired, but she smiled up at them.

“You two don’t have to stay. Go home and get some rest. Shoot, have a little honeymoon.”

“Sure. We’ll have a nice, scenic tour of the couch like all newlyweds do.”

“They do in this economy,” Steve quipped.

“Wiseguy,” Sarah muttered. “I mean it, though. I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night like I do ten thousand times to pee and to find you two knuckleheads sleeping all cramped on my couch. I want you to get some rest, and you can come back in the morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

Steve mulled this. “I hate to leave you alone if you need anything, Ma.”

“I know that. All I need right now is rest.” She waved him over and patted the space beside her on the bed. Steve joined her, trying not to make the mattress sag too much. “You can leave all that out there for the housekeeper. As long as the food’s put away, it won’t be a problem.”

“I can take care of that, Ma!”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen to Mr. Type A Compulsive, here,” Sarah told Bucky.

“My ma was a registered nurse,” Steve retorted. “We know where I got it from.”

That made Bucky grin and nod.

“Oh, you pipe down over there in the peanut gallery, mister!”

“We didn’t have any other plans, Sarah.”

“Well… at least go home for a while. Change into something comfy. And take a break before you come back. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bucky told her.

“Fair enough,” Steve allowed. He kissed her cheek and retucked the edge of her blanket, checked her O2 setting, and then walked out with Bucky as she closed her eyes.

They locked up behind themselves and piled into Bucky’s car. Bucky turned on the radio and flipped through the stations on low volume.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“I’m glad we did this.”

“So’m I. I just… I want you to take something happy from today.” The words clogged Bucky’s chest. “I just wanna make you happy, Stevie.”

“Oh, Buck, you did!” And the emotions that warred within Bucky began spilling out when Steve took his hand. “This meant so much. Okay? Not just to Ma, but to me. Do you understand that?”

Bucky nodded, and his eyes filled as he stared ahead at the road.

“I meant it,” Steve said.

“Meant what?”

“That I fell for you the first time that we met, Bucky.”

Bucky’s laugh was low and ragged. “That was my favorite part of the vows, pal.”

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice became firm. “Buck. I meant it. It wasn’t just the vows. I’ve felt like this for a long time.”

“So you’re telling me that…” Bucky glanced over at him, trying not to take his attention too far from the freeway. “You really meant it?”

“Bucky, I love you so much.”

Bucky felt shock run through him from head to toe. “Oh, yeah? Well, y’know what, Stevie? I love you too, you punk. I love you, and I meant what I said, too. Because you make me better, and you make me want to be better.”

“I meant it. When I told you I’d never let you walk away.”

“I know. When you told Brock that in the shop.”

“I always wondered what you thought when I said that.”

“I wasn’t sure if I heard you right, but it sure sounded good at the time.”

“I meant it.”

“Then, it sounds fantastic now.”

The tension in Bucky’s chest loosened, and he laughed. “I just married the man I love today,” he mused.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

They drove home and pulled into their parking spot, and as soon as they unbuckled their seatbelts, Steve pulled him close and kissed him with heat and need, hand cupped around Bucky’s nape, fingers curled into the back of his hair. Bucky felt Steve’s pounding heartbeat as he clutched his shirt collar. Low, brief moans punctuated their kisses, which grew hot. Bucky and Steve clutched at each other, tongues stroking, lips nipping, breath choppy with the promise of what would happen once they were behind a locked door.

The walk across the lobby felt too long. The elevator ride was too long. The walk down the hall took forever, and Bucky was about ready to lose it as he fumbled with his key in the door, with Steve pressed against his back, kissing his shoulder through his coat. They rushed inside, kicked the door shut behind them, and Bucky shoved Steve back against it and devoured his mouth.

They shucked their coats and kicked off their shoes, trailing clothes on the way to Steve’s bedroom.

“We’re still heading back once we pack a bag,” Bucky promised.

“Ma was running short on dish soap,” Steve murmured against Bucky’s mouth as he unbuttoned Bucky’s shirt and freed the hem from his pants. Zippers tore open sharply and hands found heated, needy flesh. “You looked hot today. You looked gorgeous, Bucky.”

“So did you. Look at you, Stevie.” Bucky sagged down onto the bed, and Steve stepped between his spread knees. He drained more kisses from Bucky’s mouth as Bucky undid his buckle and jerked down his dress slacks and boxers in one go, letting them hammock themselves around his calves. Bucky’s hands traced the contours of his long, tapered thighs and narrow hips. The tip of Steve’s cock buffeted against Bucky’s chin. He teased its length with his light grip, making Steve shudder and groan his approval.

“I love you, Bucky.” Bucky broke their kiss and nibbled a path down Steve’s throat, collarbones and chest, before Steve tugged off his own dress shirt and undershirt, interrupting Bucky’s progress for a moment. Then he was blessedly, beautifully bare, nipples ruched, cock already gleaming wetly at the tip, which Bucky gladly took into his mouth.

Steve stood, rocking his hips and tipping himself further into Bucky’s eat. He held onto his shoulders for balance, gripping the rock-hard muscles and stroking Bucky’s soft hair. “God, I love you,” he repeated, so relieved that he could finally say it. Bucky moaned around him, just as affected. His hands roamed over Steve while he coddled him, relishing the luxuries of his marital bed. Making love to his husband like it was brand new.

Bucky lost himself in Steve minutes later, with the cool sheets beneath his back, letting Steve have his way with him, letting him kiss and stroke him _everywhere_. Steve prepped him with help from a depleted bottle of lube and took his sweet time until Bucky was a writhing, anxious mess. When Steve withdrew his fingers, the sound Bucky made was wounded; he needed Steve to fill him and to make him feel complete. To feel connected to him. Everything changed between them in the space of an afternoon and became so much deeper, took on so much more meaning.

Steve thrust into him like he _invented it_ , with low praises spilling from his lips. They were rapt, desperate for that closeness and the physical expression of the love burning between them. Bucky’s legs cramped from their tight hold around Steve’s ribs, until Steve moved them over his shoulders, sped up his pace, and drove Bucky into sweet, merciful oblivion.

Bucky sprawled limply beneath Steve. “I can’t move my legs.”

“Bet you want me to carry you, now.”

“I think we can give it a minute, pal.”

“I want to get a quick shower before we go back.”

“That’s fine, baby.”

Steve lifted his head off of Bucky’s chest and stared down into his face. “You’re fine with us going back, right?”

“I sure am.” Bucky cradled Steve’s jaw in his palm. “You don’t have to go through this alone. Wherever you are is where I wanna be, Steve.”

“I never wanna ask you for too much.”

“This isn’t too much. Nothing is. Because I love you.”

When they emerged later from the apartment, comfortably dressed and bundled against the chill, they moved as one, holding hands and walking together like a couple who had been together for decades.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for OriginalCeeNote's "Maybe We'll Live and Learn, Maybe We'll Crash and Burn"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330257) by [debwalsh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/debwalsh/pseuds/debwalsh)




End file.
